


Vos, the city of freedom

by Aksalin



Series: Vos [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-11-12 10:36:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 21,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11160141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aksalin/pseuds/Aksalin
Summary: “His name is Soundwave, and he conquered death”.In Ratchet’s memoirs Soundwave looks like this - http://i.imgur.com/QBnrsMI.jpg, although in other episodes he looks like this -  http://i.imgur.com/FeVvoaT.jpg. Here you can read the version how it could happen. Pre-canon, the beginning of the Great War, many original characters.I'm translating my own text from russian.





	1. Prologue. 1.1.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Вос, город свободы](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/298383) by Aksalin. 



  
At first he moved back, looking around and stumbling on concrete cracks, but strange beast catched him up and planned somewhere above the head — so, Snowflake ran. He dodged, bending down to dusty and dirty surface, he could not remember, why it should have saved from the shots. However, the beast stopped trying to hurt him. His right wing was still hurt, and he could not see, how seriously it was harmed.

  
There were flashed jets in the sky, leaving gray contrails at the dark, in each window of the towers around was some people, who could hear him… He wanted to scream, but couldn’t find the words, and finally understood — no one will help. Any screams, any requests were useless. Like many cycles ago, when he was young and so scared that he couldn’t move hand or foot. Then he had been imprisoned in one of empty rooms. But now he grew up und knew — they have only tried to protect him. He grew up and must have fended for himself, but he had only blasters, and he had already tried to shoot this… animal? Guided weapon?

  
He leaned against the rock — he didn’t notice how he had run to the edge of the city. The spark pulsated in horror, all the systems approached thermal overload, so the rock under his wings seemed icy. His legs trembled so stark that he must have sat down, more exactly, slide on the rough ground. It seemed, that the covering of his wings became ragged and exuded energon, and they ached. Snowflake narrowed optics and tried to seek the silver-grey winged pursuer at glowing background of the towers. Could it be true, that he shaked off?

  
Small shadow flashed on the right, falling from the sky — no, from the ledge on the cliff, Snowflake noticed. He rolled on the crumbling stones and picked up the heavy one. The beast was small and seemed pretty, had of two wings and some kind of frame, but Snowflake was scared by it.

  
Maybe it would be better to let the beast to closer to him and strike it, because now it easily dodged from the thrown stone. Beast's metal wings noisily smashed into his chestplate, his hands got numb from powerful electric discharge, and Snowflake screamed from pain and fear. Beast’s legs hook something behind, between helmet and neck. It got dark, few nanokliks he felt cold and stinging air in ventilation systems — but soon it disappeared too.

  
By the time it was over, his frame refused to obey long time, and it was hard to focus on the colorful shiny towers of Vos — they were rising to sky somewhere on the left, at the same time in twenty steps and a world away from him. Star, slightly shimmering and quivering slightly, were farther, in the thousands or millions of light-years, and the names of the largest constellations easy came back to his memory, together with the navigation charts and control points of the hyper-jumps.

  
Soundwave. His name is Soundwave, and he had been a lieutenant of space reconnaissance up to the cycle when his home planet collapsed at foundry of the civil war and divided into many autonomies. His name is Soundwave, and he conquered death.

  
He couldn’t believe that it was so simple.

  
Megatron didn't believe too, but kept Lazerbeak as he had promised, — and the memory about this conversation warmed Soundwaves' spark, driving the cold away. Here he was sheltered from the wind by high rocks, but he knew the bad thing about being that high up — here couldn’t be warm. Megatron didn't believe, Soundwave heard irritation in his voice, when he grabbed his hand and made him touch Lazerbeak… It was in the time, when all of them — big spaceship and all survived expedition members — drifted to Cybertron, waiting for a chance to return home with only one jump, because the hyperdrives were unable to do more. Then Orion Pax decided to tell Megatron, who temporarily assumed the duties of the captain, about his suspicions: he thought, that he knew the real reason of the raiders’ attack that had found the Darkstar in the endless expanses of space. In those cycles Megatron couldn’t to find a way to spend time with dying Soundwave, and after, when the doctor Ratchet saved his life, permanently destroyed his faceplate and eliminated his dynamics of voice, no one remembered this desperate plea.

  
But if Lazerbeak was here, in spite of jets’ protection measures, so, Megatron didn’t forget his promise. Ha, they had committed enormous amounts of energy to support the static and impenetrable force dome — and skipped the semi-intelligent droid spy! Surely the local surveillance system was closely monitoring the air in those kliks, when it was necessary to allow access, although it was strange that there wasn’t the limited list of energy signatures. But Lazerbeak did everything in a right way. Smarty. Soundwave's finest creation, the perfect spy, and the most faithful companion. No one will be faithful as the droid, whose program didn’t imply anything else. Lazerbeak had really become an extension of himself, his integral part was the only one Soundwave could trust. If you want something done right, do it by yourself.

  
He raised his rebellious hand, stroking the thin wings that wrapped around the neck like reliable steel collar:

  
— Thank you, La…

  
Name — a set of sounds activating of fun or alert, depending on who said — sounded like short melodic trill, alien and unaccustomed, and Soundwave clawed his own throat trying to destroy his dynamic which was making so high pitched sounds. It was naive to expect that the voice would sound the same in the new frame. Lazerbeak vibrated alarmingly under his hand, and he took trembling fingers off his neck, made a fist, looking at the reflections of the city lights on a smooth surface. He was lucky he was born without claws, unlike most of the jets in Vos. They were going to kill him because of it, but an error in the genome just saved Lazerbeak.

  
«… three hundred and eighty-odd thousand jets in the city, only seven thousands of whom want to serve our warriors, — and have you decided to kill sparkling, which will have no choice among to learn how to use his processor?» — popped up in Soundwave’s mind. He didn’t know and didn’t want to know, why Snowflake was afraid almost to stasis of dark brown mech with insinuating voice, when the other one wanted to shoot him. Soundwave knew, why his spark raced now.

  
Duty officers in the decepticons’ force headquarters would find the signal of Soundwave’s spark soon, it would be clear and undistorted, that indicate the full merger of spark and memory. Maybe they had already found him and reported Megatron — and despite the fact that the last saved memories on Lazerbeak were recorded a little over three quartex ago, all the cities, that had subscribed to rebellion, couldn’t afford so many soldiers. They hadn’t been able to oppose Vos and open a second front then, they couldn’t do it now, but Soundwave knew Megatron and his opinion about Vos too well, so he was scared. If he would provoke a diplomatic conflict that could even destroy all decepticons’ army, was his resurrecting worth?

  
Three hundred and eighty thousand jets. The party to which they would join, would rule the Cybertron, and it had been clear vorns ago, then first Lazerbeak had brought photos of skyrocketing towers. Vos hadn’t been idle.

  
«I’m alive, — Soundwave sent it on a priority channel, using all encryption methods available to Lazerbeak’s systems. — Don’t do anything crazy until my next message».


	2. 1.2

He stubbornly moved to low grey tower, which shined like a steel in white spotlights — the lines of backlight in every two levels, large jet-entrances equidistant to each other on all sides, — and his servo twitched, because he hadn’t used those kinds of moves. Wings, swinging behind his back like alien appendages of living metal, shifted the center of gravity; legs bent unnaturally as if they had more joints than normal. Curved armor plates moved independently and clanged in the wind.

  
It was warmer in the tower, the air was warmed by approximately droning terminals and huge server blocks. Slender grey jet behind the reception raised gold lenses, welcoming the newcomer. His elongated faceplate became friendly.

  
— Headwind to you, — Soundwave greeted him politely by alien unbearable singing voice. — I’m sorry about what happened, but here flies Megatron to see me. So I would like to know with whom I can speak about a passing through the force dome.

  
He sensed the electromagnetic field, that informed him about a kind of fear in his talker, but jet’s face didn’t change and finally froze like a mask. Lazerbeak caught a pass on the closed channel — but no more than the approximate amount of data packets.

  
— This issue will be resolved. Estimated waiting time is two kliks.

  
Soundwave had been here once, and his memory told him that was hidden behind the thin gray partitions made of opaque plastic. Sparkling found everything new and interesting; Soundwave examined the room indifferently: high ceilings with equal squares of cover, solid doors, walls, painted in gray, — so, he didn’t take just one nanoklik to this and was listening to the sounds of the lower level all the rest of time.

  
— Come, — jet showed him the way, but Soundwave already had detected footsteps.

  
There, behind the last deviding wall, next to a huge server and screens, which occupied most part of the semicircular wall, were two jets, and Soundwave tilted his head back so hard that the wire connecting to the droid twitched painfully in the depths of the half-opened med-panel. Here was Skyjack, commandant of Vos, who declared an autonomy to the city.

  
In those crazy quartexes when cities one by one had refused to recognize the new Prime, because he dispersed the Senate and declared a state of emergency, Skyjack had replaced Sandstorm, the former commandant, at the negotiation so far that Soundwave didn’t believe in the «will of the jets who elected him». No one had seen Sandstorm and Lord Commander too since then. They had expressed a willingness to cooperate, in contrast to Skyjack. However, the situation had demanded swift and tough decisions. Maybe too tough… Maybe if someone of the military elite had supported Megatron, Prime could admit that they had been right, and many of the problems would been avoided…

  
Soundwave had seen Skyjack only in the records before, and now it wasn’t a pleasure to be near him in this fragile new frame. Well, this was the fee of the opportunity to live after deactivating, and he needed to learn how to deal with this feeling.

  
— So you say that the self-styled Lord Commander wants to see you. May I ask, are you a decepticons’ spy?

  
Soundwave knew very well this low and husky voice — and this sarcastic intonation; after every negotiation Soundwave had spent so much effort to protect innocent technique against the anger of «the self-styled Lord».

  
— I swear that my intentions were pure, — Soundwave pressed hand to chestplate. — I’ve got the memory of mech, who had lived with my spark to the new birth, and it had been hard to guess that this happens exactly in Vos. If I were a spy, would I dare to come here?

  
Skyjack grinned and stepped closer, so now his electromagnetic field suppressed, completely blocking the intrinsic emission of Soundwave. His spark briefly twitched, but he forced himself to stay at a place. He couldn’t decide anything better than to be absolutely honest, and now he clutched teeth, feeling how his wings fluttered. Skyjack could effortlessly send him to Allspark again, but if Soundwave showed his fear he would bring shame upon Kaon’s gladiators and Space Fleet.

  
— Well, in that case, send your personal Megatron’s code to Electro, — after unbearably long silence Skyjack nodded toward the gray-yellow jet, who stood near a huge terminal.

  
Unlikely they would risk to deactivate Megatron in Vos. No, if they had wanted to follow the Prime, they were able to do it anytime quartexes and vorns ago. But Prime had insulted them by stripping the power of the Lord-Commander from Vos. For thousands of vorns, only the best from Vos had been appointed to head the united army of Cybertron, since Orion Pax was chosen by Matrix and handed this power to Megatron. Soundwave couldn’t blame the newly appointed Prime for this decision… but here and now he was afraid to trust Megatron’s life to the jets who hated and despised him.

  
However, there was no choice. Data transfer took less than nanoklik, Lazerbeak caught that Electro tossed the data to the server without touching — and the jets looked at each other and turned red unblinking lens on Soundwave almost instantly. The red dot which was just to the north of Vos glowed on a giant screen.

  
— I think you’ll find the roof comfortable for conversation, — said Skyjack, and with a short buzz on the comlink a message with the coordinates from Electro came. — Go upstairs to the top, after open the hatch.

  
He tripped on the third step and almost collapsed, clutching over the smooth wall on the right. Step. Another step. Through the pain. He was trying not to think about how these strange servo functioned. The winding staircase lengthened the six level rise to infinity, and he thought if he took his hand off the wall he risked to fall on the floor from unfenced edge.

  
Jets below were glaring at him. Now he was really taken seriously, because it was impossible to fake it — as if his frame had forgotten how to walk and now tried to move as a heavy space-jet. Even sparklings didn’t freeze with every step, wondering how they could move. But if Lazerbeak didn’t catch echoes of encrypted communications channels, Soundwave would probably believe in tales about the collective mind in Vos. Skyjack and Electro had understood everything much earlier: sparkling Snowflake hadn’t been able to sent the data to the first time encountered mech, not to mention the original code of Lord. Soundwave had sent full algorithm for the local server, comprising bypassing Megatron’s protection from such scanning and guidelines for force dome program.

  
The thought of how jets’ faceplates had changed supported Soundwave at the following levels. Ha, did commandant of Vos come down himself to talk to each local madman? Megatron’s name meant something to arrogant jets, and this knowledge gave hope for happy outcome. To reborn in Vos. It was ironic, wasn't it?


	3. 1.3

— It warms my spark to know that you could come back, Soundwave, — said Megatron and lurched forward, raising his right hand.

Maybe he wanted traditionally push Soundwave’s shoulder or hug him — but fortunately Megatron realized that it would be clearly traumatic for the fragile jet. Around raised to the sky shining multicolored towers; white, blue, orange, red, green, purple reflections mingled on the shiny coverage under his feet. Somewhere above force dome flickered weakly resting on the slopes of dark mountains. Megatron, tall and strong, stood slightly hunched. It seemed that he couldn’t find words for his resurrected friend.

— How did I die? — finally asked Soundwave; tens of questions spun in his mind, but he couldn’t voice them here. The spacious roof of the administration was empty, but it would be foolish to trust to this illusion of privacy. This tower was probably the lowest in the city, and because of it thousands of lenses, of course, were watching every movement, every gesture. 

— The sword cut the camera of your spark. A quick death. I have revenged myself for your death, — Megatron added after a pause, filled with confusion and unspoken words.

— Thank you, my Lord, — Soundwave tried to bow and almost fell, and he clenched his fists, hating his new frame for this clumsy helplessness. For this delicate and high pitched voice. For this long wings, shivering and pulling back. — Are you disappointed?

— You were a good soldier, but you know that your mind and your unrivaled abilities were truly invaluable. No matter how your frame has changed, your position is rightfully yours.

In accordance with his merits. He didn’t have any abilities, all that he could now, in fact, was the ability to Lazerbeak which probably had served Megatron when Soundwave’s spark had been with Primus. More precisely, in absolute Nothing. Soundwave hadn’t met Unicron, Primus or even glow warming his spark, he just woke up at the foot of a huge rock, as his last meeting with Megatron had been just yesterday. Of course, somebody else had become the decepticons' head of intelligence, because Soudwave had been «unrivaled», and the gulf between «unrivaled» and «irreplaceable» was deeper as gorge populated by winged jets.

— My mind is talking me that my frame is the frame of the sparkling, and I'm not even able to deal with my own new wings. So, I have to stay here and I can’t tell you the exact date when I will be ready to fight next to you with a sword or with a mind.

— Are you sure? — there was the understanding in Megatron’s lenses — it was clear, that decepticons needed to review the situation in Vos. But Megatron’s voice was anxious. 

— I hope you will revenge once again, if it is necessary, — the line of the mouth twitched strangely when he tried to smile.

— No doubt about it! — Megatron growled and brandished his massive fist at the city blazing on all sides. — I'll wait for you, Soundwave. Without you… you know, all is very different without you.

Soundwave looked away the silver figure which turned into a scarlet speck from space-jet’s exhaust soon, then drove inappropriate envy and went to the closed hatch. Kneeling, few nanokliks Soundwave allowed himself just to look at the rough black metal without the reflection of the light. Wings, as a symbol of helplessness and uselessness, pressed on his back, and the wind was shaking them, trembling either from cold or rage. There were no handles or cracks on the hatch, nothing that he could grasp. Even claws wouldn’t help. 

Snowflake could fly, so Soundwave would do it too… what told jet, who had taken him from the underground room and shown the shining Vos from unimaginable height? Airrazor had fascinated sparkling Snowflake, Soundwave thought he was useless curator and debauched beast, but he had been right about one thing: it wasn’t necessarily to perform aerobatics when it was enough to fly straight to a certain point. «Just take a step down, kid, and your programs will do it all themselves». Well, the height of the administration’s tower didn’t go to any comparison with the height of the tower in the protective zone, where Snowflake had fallen from. 

Here and now Soundwave couldn’t be crushed to death even if he really tried.

He transformed into robo-mode near the surface, began to fall and still grated by fingers of extended right hand by the dirty blocks. There were almost no stairs in Vos, and Soundwave would have to use his wings again every time when he went somewhere. 

Wide door, as it turned out, waited all this time when he stood up — well, he had measured his awkward flight so that he landed near the entrance. Jet at the counter stared at him subtly different. Jet’s faceplate stayed extremely unemotional, but lenses were following Soundwave closely and uncomfortable. Another jet, tall and broad-shouldered, kept talking but finally realized that he wasn’t being listened now and turned to Soundwave, who was stubbornly limping forward. 

— Due to the circumstances I don’t need a curator anymore, — cold wind from re-opened door touched him, and the end of the phrase sounded too shrill and loud. He noted to recalibrate the vocoder. — But I need to live somewhere.

— We have places in the Academy’s buildings, — replied jet quickly — very quickly, as if he knew in advance what to say; certainly it was true. — You will be welcomed there and get all necessary information. And I have one question to you: should I change your name in the database, or you prefer to remain Snowflake? 

Stupid name. Soundwave didn’t think that sparkling had ever understood the cybertronian language immediately after birth, but he had saved in memory every conversation that he had heard. And in the long cycles of loneliness being locked and almost desperate Snowflake had revised the files of moments when he had got even some attention so many times that this moments had got the highest priority automatically. Soundwave felt sorry remembering sparkling’s emotion. However, Soundwave decided to deal with problems in order of importance, and now he had no claims against somebody from the protective zone. Snowstorm, the name proposed by the terminal initially, and Snowflake were equally unpleasant.

— Soundwave. My name is Soundwave.


	4. 1.4

Academy in Vos — at least a dozen buildings scattered zigzaggy along the western edge of the city — was deafening and staggering. Somewhere, at the height of twenty-five levels, jets were furiously screaming and shooting in the large training ground which stood on the three broad towers. At the corners of the other towers Soundwave saw several smaller grounds and guessed that they were intended for a sword fight and a close combat.

He had to hold the unusually large datapad with two hands, and it wasn’t easy to learn the layout of the surrounding buildings. The touchscreen was clearly designed for long and thick claws instead of fingers and constantly didn’t react to those sensors that he needed. Dormitory buildings were located outside the main scheme, and it took three kliks to understand where were classrooms, canteens, repair center, training areas… However, the recent were visible without scheme, and Soundwave doubted that he needed to use them in the coming decacycles.

It was logical that jets wouldn’t let the decepticons’ spy to study the weapons systems or genetics that allowed Vos to gain autonomy and to be counted by both warring sides — and still, the list of the disciplines which was being held at the Academy was impressive. Of course, Kaon’s space-jets had also learned and sworn to serve Cybertron before they went on their first expedition. Of course, Soundwave’s knowledges about weapons were enough to analyze Snowflake’s memory files and to get a clear picture of what and how much were producing in Vos, although sparkling had performed mostly mechanical work. Soundwave thought they regret that they allowed the outsider to get acquainted with their weapons production, albeit superficially. Instead of it, jets offered him a chance, which was impossible to refuse.

Well, these wonderful lines, that masked knowledges that he had never been able to get in Kaon, could wait. Now he had to take care of his new frame. Sparkling’s frame that needed energon and hibernation… and unbearably annoyed by this melodic, high and sweet voice. Fortunately, Soundwave could fix it. He hoped that he could. Lazerbeak also achieved excellence not immediately.

It was easy to get lost among Academy’s buildings, so Soundwave re-checked with the scheme. Refectory, to which he was assigned, was located on the lower level of the residential tower, and the way to it — to his new home, Soundwave reminded to himself, — passed along the wall of the academic building, decorated blue squares and triangles in a bizarre geometric pattern. Underfoot blocks looked relatively smooth and clean, they were probably washed and swept more often than in other areas of the city.

The room wasn’t much different from similar refectories in warships, on which Soundwave had spent thousands of vorns in his previous life. He drunk energon slowly savoring half-forgotten taste and listening to his feelings: corrosion which had destroyed his faceplate had destroyed the fuel lines too, and he had been able to inject the concentrate into a maximum proximity to the tanks only. And now the fluid was sliding into the throat and lower, teasing sensors by unaccustomed tickling pressure. As far as he could tell, energon was almost undiluted. Airrazor warned him of energon with additives, which could deaden the hunger and give different side effects. It was poured on every street, but the Academy’s cadets in Vos were still supposed to get quality fuel, despite its deficiency. It was very handy given the additional energy consumption for Lazerbeak.

Jets obviously preferred white — white walls, white backlight on all the towers, — and there wasn’t another cybertronian city, in which so many lights sparkled and abated the eternal darkness, like stars and pale golden satellites which were flying every cycle in the black sky. The refectory was almost empty now, there was only one group of six winged sparklings hunged with weapons who were waving emotionally their huge sharp claws, they were talking and laughing in the far corner. Lazerbeak was catching the multitude of voices and steps’ echoes muted by the ceiling above.

On the twenty-eighths level marked by the narrow red stripes of glittering glass on the edges of the jet-entrances, Soundwave had to fly up by wings. Lurching during the reverse transformation, Soundwave grabbed the slippery edge of the shutter and it hummed under his fingers, vibrated, hurrying to close and to keep warm in a long corridor leading into the gloom. Dormitory towers were in the form of elongated rectangles, and if other levels hadn’t any differences, so each of them was inhabited by jets like in a vast insecticons’ underground hive. Soundwave felt mixed signals of jets’ electromagnetic fields behind identical numbered black doors on both sides of the narrow corridor. There were dozens and hundreds of individual signatures. He could hope only that the cadets hadn’t considered ready for the war yet. But Soundwave’s knowledges about Vos made this hope ghostly weak.

— Headwind to you, — black jet with dark red stripes on the wings’ edges jumped off a berth, and flown up their tips almost touched the low ceiling. — You’re so small, that I needn’t clear the place for you, it’s well!

Soundwave inspected the tiny room, leaning against the cold wall and feeling disgusting icy wind from the door which seemed to be firmly closed. Part of the view was blocked by his neighbor, of course, who’s wings didn’t reach the ceiling with the flat lamps, as it seemed at first, but he was still tall and large. By the simple arithmetic calculations Soundwave noticed that Vos, unable to grow in breadth, was suffering from overpopulation since already few vorns, but jets weren’t ready to give up producing new warriors. The small brigs at the prison on the satellite, from where decepticons’ strike force had saved Shockwave, were even more spacious. Small step to the right — and Soundwave would trip on the edge of his own berth. Its gray wiped covering was littered with various datapads, polishes and cleaners. The mountain of trash near the opposite wall was covered by a wet rag with rust stains. The partition that separated the room from the adjacent one opened its distorted panels by hand’s stroke and demonstrated a shallow shelfs of built-in storage, clogged up to the top by some junk too.

— What… what are you doing?! Are you asking me to punch you, squirt?! — screamed unnamed jet behind barely had Soundwave leaned to the things scattered on the berth.

He turned around, raised his optics — it seemed that his roommate was even higher than Skyjack, but could it embarrass Kaon’s gladiator? He always knew that power was nothing without cunning and dexterity, and black jet couldn’t even catch him by wingtip. And when jet’s claws clenched automatically, catching jars wrapped in cloth, Soundwave made sure that he won this round.

— You clumsy idiot! — neighbor growled quieter, picking up plastic and metal containers scattered on the floor; one of them lost the lid, and now rust remover powder whirled in the room, sprinkling all around with silver dust. — Couldn’t you ask me politely?!

The lower faceplate’s part twitched again, Soundwave doubted that it looked like a smile. It seemed Snowflake hadn’t such problem, his facial expression was quite natural and even cute. Like most sparklings, he couldn’t control his emotions, often laughed, frightened or became upset — though enforced solitude in the protective zone made him more silent than others. Soundwave approved it fully, he knew from his experience that ninety-nine percent of the cases didn’t require any meaningless sound vibrations.


	5. 2.1. Time to explore

Color of the smelting pit in the center of Vos differed from smelting pools in Kaon — it seemed that magma from the depths of Cybertron was pulsing and bubbling, and it was scary to imagine how the same thing was happening deep within the rocks, calling Tagan Heights, only one hic of stone away of the streets on the surface. Soundwave was sitting on a thin and hot plate fastened to the wall, and only a few centimeters of metal protected him from falling into the boiling mixture. And the grate too, it was so hot that he was afraid to squeeze it harder.

Here was the only place in this windswept city, where he felt really warm. Heat. Hot. Divine. The long sitting in the mecha-made abyss could overheat the processor, but Lazerbeak, who hadn’t thick and heat-resistant casing, would made a signale in time, so Soundwave was sure that he would take off before he would feel even slight confusion of thought in any case. And now he could relax and practically hang on the thin grate, idly looking at sinuous lines of the patterns arising immediately on orange and scarlet mess. Hot air warmed each servo and each detail, lubrication of the joints became perfectly liquid again, and cold retreated, although it had seemed that cold infiltrated all his frame. When control surfaces were popping up themselves on the wings, wet from condensation, it felt like a pain — but this pain was mild and pleasant.

Of course, he couldn’t be left alone even here. Native Kaon held sixteen times greater area with its half million miners, three million workers and five thousand space-jets along with a couple thousand attendants of the spacecraft. Soundwave even hadn’t counted the thousands hics of mines and underground tunnels yet, and the factories and warships areas outside the city too. Soundwave was lucky that he wasn’t fit combat triad. He was irritated by one neighbor and didn’t want to endure two jets constantly obsessed with flights and fights… Another option to change neighbor was the bonding of sparks, which considered sacred in Vos, but the bond, that had arisen between the two sparks, were supposed still to be proved by answering the questions of the special commission and by submitting a sufficient number of witnesses. The layout of some towers didn’t allow to build more walls, so at one compartment could accommodate five, ten or more jets. However, they made every effort to mitigate Soundwave’s alarm and to reduce their numbers — and he was watching one of the favorite entertainment of local sparklings right now. Even lowering the optics, he perfectly heard shrill screams, laugh and deafening roar of the jets’ engines, when jets performed aerobatics in the narrow cliff, competing to fly closer to the bubbling magma. Although in Soundwave’s presence nobody had died this way, it was hard to believe that all the dancers above the smelting pit flew away home safely.

— Hey! Can’t you jump there?

Even without turning head, by voice, Soundwave identified that this grey jet was standing at the opposite end of the viewing platform. There were located ropes hanging from surface and swaying broad platform few meters above for the descent dead bodies. There were also filigree gate, and now flaps were fastened by a chain. It was symbolically, of course, because even short Soundwave could reach the top of the fence easily and get to the other side.

— He is a coward! Everybody will tell it’s true! — this jet with a bright yellow chevron had almost crashed into a stone slope fifteen kliks ago, but was able to turn around at the last moment.

— I heard he has just swept down at his first fly! — third jet said it so angrily, that Soundwave smiled unwittingly.

— Hey, you! I’m talking with you! You need help, don’t you?

Metal vibrated by jet’s steps and somebody smaller then him clattered behind him, but all of them were too far to touch Soundwave.

Many times he thought it would be better to give up and to try his luck in a new reborn — but he was a space fleet officer. He could find in his spark enough courage to live here. He had never wanted this war, but it meant nothing to him now. He couldn’t abandon the chance to get new unique skills and knowledges… and to attract Vos to decepticons’side…

— Braky, if he’ll die, Megatron will attack Vos, do you hear me?

— Thank Primus it’ll happen! — snapped Braky, who was already at five or six steps. — How long can we sit here, then is there the war on Cybertron?  


Soundwave didn’t move, absorbing burning hot air, which looked like trembling haze near the opposite stone slope. His spark raced in its enclosure alarmingly, but his frame had been warmed and was sluggish and relaxed now. He would have time to let Lazerbeak go. He had already recorded on her all his memory, and she was recording what was happening right now.

— The referendum was held recently. More jets voiced against. Skyjack and Firefly were in Academy and explained that we aren’t ready. The next referendum may decide otherwise, — persuaded someone tapping his heel on the humming grate.

— Are you a coward too?! — yelled Braky. — We will wait almost quartex! And you’re the idiot, if you believe Firefly. He… — Braky lowed voice and stomped back to the gate, and second jet clattered behind.

Firefly. Commandant’s conjux endura und actually co-ruler of the city. Instead of Skyjack, he had never left Vos — at least not for a long time — and didn’t leave traces at cybertronian networks. Soundwave knew about Firefly nothing but his name and status, and it was unnerving; however, it would be too brazen and reckless to send Lazerbeak on exploration mission in the administration’s tower.

Half words and wary whispers fueled his curiosity. And in any case, Soundwave should find out as much as possible about the jets who ruled the city. Now he analyzed the facts, about which he didn’t have time to think previously. Until his death, Soundwave had to operate with data of the cities, which participated in the war actively. Now he was getting an increasingly convenience that the former space raider, who had returned to Cybertron before the start of the uprising and had been gathering a new team, hadn’t been able to arrange accommodation and training conditions of tens of thousands jets. Undoubtedly, somebody of the administration’s old staff had remained in their places then, but in the local network Soundwave found registers of jets, who had been responsible for different aspects of the city’s functioning, and he knew that other jets, mostly belonging to the elite special forces, had taken almost all the positions in the first quartexes after the declaration of autonomy. Categorical refusal to participate in the war looked even more mysterious now.

Alas, it wasn’t allowed to find out who really ruled Vos by briefs on the expansion of dormitories and on the construction of new towers’ levels, on the repair of underground utilities and on the energon mining, without mention what they wanted from decepticons and Soundwave personally. He tried to keep Lazerbeak next to himself, though he felt at the same time partially blinded and deafened. But almost every jet in this city knew whose this droid was and what role it had played in the resurrection, which insulted the laws of Primus. Soundwave knew, that Primus hadn’t written such things, he hadn’t written anything generally and hardly had existed in objective reality, at least for the foreseeable period of history… but jets adhered to their own beliefs, from which high-ranking Iacon’s clergies’ brain modules would short in a few kliks.

It was good that Soundwave had never worried about religion. He had seen hundreds of planets and civilizations, and the inhabitants of each believed in something different. In that case how could he understand that had been the impetus for the emergence of life on Cybertron factually? Soundwave was a warrior and spy, and so many things depended on how well he would distinguish the real facts from assumptions.

Alas, religious fanatics in Vos were absolutely real, and it seemed nothing good. Well, there was slight chance that the autobots and Vos’ jets would begin once the sacred battle for who were more loved by Primus and who was serving Primus correctly. But they had been able to do it vorns ago, so probably it wasn’t a reason to die for them. It was only an additional argument in favor of the decepticons — very, very doubtful argument.


	6. 2.2

Certainly, not in vain Soundwave had repeated the release order of all of these flaps and ailerons on the rise and decline before each hibernation. It turned out almost perfectly, but he didn’t remember in time how to cope with sharp lateral wind gusts, and the spotlight shining backlight shot down most of the optical sensors and definitively deprived him of spatial orientation. Well, this hateful frame coped clearly better when instinct prevailed over reason — but Soundwave should consider the number of jets whizzing between the Academy’s buildings too, he didn’t, and the collision was painful for all his fuselage… and then he crashed into something hard, almost breaking stabilizers, and it seemed he transformed still being in the air. 

Yes, it was the wall of the neighboring dormitory, devoid of windows. Soundwave hardly would break armored glass, but maybe then he wouldn’t fall from a height of sixteen levels, and leg wouldn’t ache so much that he was afraid to move. Above the head some jets were cursing shrilly into two — or even three? — voices, hovering in their anti-gravity, but he hadn’t enough strength to listen to the angry cries. It was clear what they were saying. Shame of Vos. Coward. Unworthy even just to be near, as if the emanation of weakness penetrated the systems similar radiation quietly, destroying from the inside. Soundwave crouched on the dusty blocks and lowered his head, holding his mouth, which was twitching again, by cold fingers. When these jets stopped screaming and flew away, it would be possible to examine the leg and decide what to do next. It had been only two visits to the repair center this decacycle; of course, he made a lot of progress on the background of the previous five, but he didn’t rule out the possibility that he would break this record in the remaining cycles. Doctors had already recognized him, but who didn’t recognize him here? Resurrected decepticons' head of intelligence was persona non-grata in Vos, perhaps, more than the rebellious scientist Shockwave on autobots’ territories or Optimus Prime himself on decepticons’. Although in that case it would be likely to try to deal with them or to demand concessions in exchange for the returning safely, because Shockwave’s mind hadn’t been able to crack by the best Senate’s mnemosurgeons and Prime was defended by Matrix. Soundwave had died, data about decepticons on his hard drives were obsolete, and his decision to stay in Vos had been baffling jets for many cycles already.

Who had said that sinners would be eternal melting or eternal suffering in the metaphysical halls of Unicron after their death? Soundwave’s palm seemed to be falling through illusory blocks, all of this never really existed, never, never, Soundwave had heard about mecha who burnt their own spark, who lost part of the personality after an emergency stasis, who went astray in confused and corrupted memory files. Nobody could stay unharmed after the death and disconnection of memory and spark…

— …he’s not talking yet, he’s sparkling! What are they doing there in the protective zone?!

Flashing, Soundwave stared at the light-colored faceplate with rhomboid stretched scarlet lenses. The blocks below were solid and absolutely real, only a crumb or maybe clinging dust was pouring through his fingers — and the hot jet’s palm on the helmet also seemed real. 

— We should return him, — someone suggested.

— His leg is broken, but there is a teleport in the medical center, — suggested someone else, and Soundwave hurriedly scanned the energy signatures. These jets were triad. 

— You’re not afraid of us, are you? — the jet smiled broadly. — You’ll be a brave warrior when you grow up. Very soon! And now let’s try stand up… There you go!

It was nice that somebody from hundreds of thousands of jets didn’t recognize him. Just in case, he lowered head, somehow masking the protruding Lazerbeak’s details, and allowed to take up him to his feet, clinging tightly to the warm and smooth armor. It hurt to step on his leg, but unexpected assistants kept him almost on weight. Right, damaged leg scraped along the road, picking up small burrs of dust, and he couldn’t bend it. Jets were talking about something of their own, confident that sparkling didn’t understand them. Well, no one in this city could keep secrets more reliable than him. 

— It’s you again! — the doctor who was on duty today groaned loudly; Soundwave didn’t know his name, but had already met him few times. — So, throw him on that berth and fly away!

When the jets had left, he pulled up higher and saw the melted hole in the turbine of the second patient. The lining was covered in deep cracks. The bent didn’t seem too large, but the wound was very deep, perhaps even through. 

— Primus creates them idiots, and the mentors believe this is a right way, — grumbled the dark-green doctor. His short and blunt claws connected some wires in a mash of blue-colored biotissue cleverly. — Admire, one idiot fumbled the back to other with a rocket, because he had failed the competition for accuracy… And now I have to take it! It would be better make him fix it, but no, he’s in the brig for that, as if it would make him smarter! And you add work to me, as if it's not enough…

The leg was unbearably itching at the knee joint and lower, apparently already starting to grow together. Soundwave didn’t feel a draft, but the room was cold. It wasn’t so cold that the energon would stop in the thin outer parts and the blades of the miniature fans would freeze close to the surface of the armor. But the joints and controlled planes’ servo on the wings were aching, because he still needed to lie. In an attempt to distract, Soundwave loaded the last lecture files stored in Lazerbeak's memory and tried to focus on something more practical than the background doctor’s murmuring. He had already switched to supply the problems, because of which the repair service lacked not only a rehabilitator, but also new tools for replacing broken ones. It was possible to separate a useful information from this grumbling later, listening to the record at maximum speed.

Sharp pain knocked out the opto- and audiosensors, Soundwave moved off, ripping off his dye by the ice metal of the latches. Swallowing the scalding energon from the bitten gloss, Soundwave raised his head and stared at the wide green wings. Apparently, the soldering iron touched one of the controllers of the neural network… and drove through the same place once again… oh, what the fragging Unicron didn’t damned Vos’ jets recognize anesthesia?!

— I’ve already decided that you’d thought of yourself as a programming genius again and broke into the vocalizer settings, — snorted the doctor.

— It… wasn’t… so painful! — Soundwave croaked with relief. Welding of either the articular membrane or the strut was difficult to call pleasant too, but he could at least suffer it without screaming. 

— You seem like an adult mecha and revolutioner — but sometimes you’re more stupid and presumptuous than a sparkling… — the doctor continued to curse, and Soundwave covered his lenses, squeezing the helmet against the hard surface of the berth. 

The nastiest thing was that the grouchy doctor was absolutely right. Until the voice coils had begun overheating and fuming, Soundwave had thought that somebody had changed the voice. But the best Kaon’s doctors didn’t know ways to restore corroded neurocables, leading to the dynamics. Lazerbeak was software and mechanical perfection, she was his continuation, not a part, and experiments on her didn’t affect his own brain module.

However, no one had ever tried to resurrect by the method of loading memory files into the frame where his spark had revived. Orion Pax had lived more than one hundred vorns before his conscious accepting the identity of the legendary Prime, and certainly he hadn’t such idiotic problems with elementary actions. He didn’t fly — but it hardly was sufficient reason. But everyone, at least everyone who dealt with the identification of energy signatures in one way or another knew perfectly how to distinguish the signal of the revived spark, intermittent and distorted. Only this signal made possible to replace the status of the missing mecha officially, sending their personal data to the archive. Why did only Soundwave come up with such a simple and elegant solution and find a way to implement it?


	7. 2.3

The spark was pounding like mad, shaking all the frame, and the cold air was absorbed by the ventilation systems, hurrying to lower the temperature of the processors to the acceptable minimum. The leg, as Soundwave remembered, hurt not because of the kicks of the elite Prime’s guards. It hurt because of the unsuccessful fall, and the real life seemed, of course, not unlimited bliss, but still quite safe and comfortable.

— Did you fly off the handle? — the doctor leaned toward the hole at the place of the injury.

At least, Soundwave’s new frame reacted on the claws in the healing wound quite clearly and adequately. During the brief hibernation, Soundwave had felt the same way, but his servo hadn’t been obeying. At first Darkstar, a huge warship, had been refusing to land on the pad, changed at the last moment. They had collided with a transporter, scattering it into a myriad of debris… and then the autobots had dragged out onto the dirty charred plates Shockwave, the only passenger, fortunately stunned and disabled. Soundwave had been still trying to fight, but his legs had given way and he had fallen in the dust and soot, and blasters had been blazing only death, imminent and inevitable… 

None of the starships’ pad could have such plates, they would rear up before the first landing of any ship, and none of the explosion would create so much dirt. Darkstar had rusted five vorns near Kaon, almost destroyed by the raiders on the Senate’s order — although in this case Soundwave wasn’t sure. He, blind and useless, had been lying almost all the time of the battle, feeling as his brain module had been corroded by the mixture of acid, alkali and salts, reacting with the involuntary condensate. Anyway, the war was already going on, even if the Senate hadn’t sent a raider ship to search for an interplanetary expedition and to kill Orion Pax. Darkstar was broken without hope of restoration. Shockwave was safely delivered to Kaon by the space bridge thirty quartexes later, but something had broken in Shockwave too. Something had broken in that place where doctors were powerless, and only Soundwave could keep him from the meaningless killing when he became rampant. Apparently, the dispassionate screen instead of Soundwave’s faceplate didn’t anger Shockwave like scared optics and distorted mouths. He was born and grew up as a heavy tank, albeit with an error in his genome. Few of the ordinary soldiers could take on his destructive fury, without destroying laboratories and causing serious injuries.

— You’re practically healthy and can fly. Few cycles, try not to fall on this leg.

Soundwave lowered his lenses, examining the thin seams — black on black along his knee and black on dark blue just below. Lazerbeak had calculated the amount of the rehabilitator that had got into his systems, and broken parts of his strut couldn’t get full functionality for the past three groons.

— These idiots are wondering why Primus don’t punish you, but I see that he has already punished you for your arrogance!

Doctor's laugh was pleasant for audiosensors, in contrast to Soundwave’s voice which was full of noise and wheeze after the unsuccessful reflashing. But this condescending gloating made Soundwave to sit up and straighten, making optic contact. He had lost an impenetrable mask, through to which his attention had shut up the most of desperate jokers. But now the detached faceplate’s expression sometimes acted successfully.

Alas, not on this jet.

— What are these parts of your frame in the alt-mode? — doctor’s claws pressed on fresh scars. — Don’t you know? Well, I highly recommend you listen at least the basic course of our anatomy… otherwise your processor will have exploded soon!

— I know the characteristics of my new frame, — melodic voice creaked more often than usual. — Albeit without such details.

— And you are still living as if it’ll fall apart from a sharp movement. But it's your business. I’ve helped you, so fly. You’ve broken your leg, not your wing! — the green doctor waved towards the door, raising his voice.

Maybe Soundwave was a despised stranger here, maybe Primus had punished him — but he still had the stubbornness, which defied the death, in his spark. Only this supported him now, when every step was unsure, cautious and gave a deafening pain across the neural network. Albeit the jets called this stubbornness by the other word — arrogance.

A short flight didn’t cause any discomfort, unlike the long corridor of the dormitory. Soundwave’s room was almost in the middle of the building, and it seemed that dragging his naughty, tottering frame to the coveted berth was a sophisticated kind of torture. He tried not to lean too heavily on the same black doors and the intervals of the white wall between them — last thing he needed was someone who could look out hearing the knock. And he knew perfectly well that absolutely everything was heard through the thin partitions in any room of the twenty-eighth level, even the hum of his ventilation systems.

But Soundwave focused on his own feelings and didn’t hear footsteps behind. He managed only to jump forward, almost falling, sliding by palm on the automatically moving door, and after he recognized the neighbor’s signature without turning around. The right knee bent back. Soundwave couldn’t get used to this unnatural joints’ mobility — as well as to inevitably losing balance, trying to bring them back to normal fit.

— They speak truly that you’re coward, — the jet entered the room and muttered thoughtfully, with a slight shade of disappointment. — It’s dishonor to us — to attack somebody who’s disproportionately weaker. We aren’t decepticons — we don’t want an easy win.

Soundwave would ask what he meant — it wasn’t necessary even to use a vocalizer for this, it was enough to open the comlink window and translate the idea into glyphs. But the pain in the crushed, absurd and frighteningly curved leg didn’t allow to formulate even the simplest phrase. Something rattled, blocked by the massive black-and-red frame, and Lazerbeak rose to the ceiling. There were just throwing stars. Not the most typical, but still a common weapon.

If the neighbor was in a hurry to fight practice, it was wiser to wait until his leaving.

Lazerbeak’s optosensors served Soundwave no worse than the lenses, covered currently, and he called her back to see the expression of neighbor's faceplate. He hardly intended to attack — in the end, his words clearly contradicted this idea, — but it was very scary to watch from above, how he loomed over the fragile blue frame crouched on the floor. 

— Stop staring at me, stupid damn thing, — the jet whispered over Soundwave’s head. — I’m already leaving.

The draft squashed the armor with icy air, and the door closed quietly, leaving Soundwave alone, lost and in fatigue. Unlikely Lazerbeak had shot the neighbor or someone else in kliks when she was alone in the room. Maybe jets just didn’t like her. Unfortunately, she didn’t record when she had protected herself or Soundwave’s things. Her hard drives had been already overcrowded, because she had to remember too many information during these cycles.


	8. 3.1

The wide ground on the upper level of the educational building was illuminated by the vertical stripes of white lamps, some of which were covered with cracks and potholes. Left and opposite there was a view of the shining city — rectangular towers of the dormitory and narrow, rounded residential buildings were rising to the stars. 

Soundwave thought that the training had already been completed, according to the schedule, and he would meet only the cleaners dropping the dead bodies down and wiping the puddles. He was still limping on his right foot. Therefore, he decided to take the shortest route — but there were sitting two jets, blue-gold and black-red, both light-weight and slender. A larger jet was lying next to them, in a gleaming blue spot. Without Lazerbeak Soundwave couldn’t distinguish what was the cause of his death. However, the rare training was victimless, and who was Soundwave himself to interfere and condemn Vos's vorns-old traditions? Very soon, within the groon, those winged frames who were looking blindly at the black sky would go to their last flight, and no one would know how and why they had died.

— Hey, can you help?

The voice overtook Soundwave at the blue stripe edge — it wasn’t forbidden transform here, just stepping out from under the roof, but he preferred doing it in a free fall. Turned, he looked at the jets more closely. The one, who had seemed dead, moved slightly, biting faceplate’s white metal with gray dents, and clung with short claws to his black-red comrade.

— Did you fly off the handle? — whispered the third jet and lowered wobbling wings. — It’s Soundwave. He doesn’t speak with anybody. 

— So what? Brother Soundwave, — anger, distorting the pretty faceplate, gave way to cold politeness instantly, — would you mind helping our trine-mate?

Well, even in Vos mecha became friendly in needing help. But Soundwave knew for sure that he wouldn’t be able to repair such damage, even though he had been on a medical lecture. And all the same he nodded, walking closer to the wounded jet stretched out on the smooth surface. More than a thousand vorns had passed since the lost voice uttered an oath protecting Cybertron and its inhabitants. The state to which Soundwave was serving had disappeared into oblivion. Prime had dispatched the Senate, which had obliged space-jets protecting their native planet — but now the spark was aching at the memory of the debt, which had to be neglected. 

Megatron was full of passion and faith in his own strength, Shockwave was an idealist and fanatic of universal equality. Kaon’s peaceful mecha were exhausted with hunger, hopelessness and government’s false promises. It was easier for them all to throw off the burden of the unfulfilled swears. The bright future loomed before them as a saving mirage, and the end justified the means. Soundwave knew Orion Pax not so well, even though he had taken part in research expeditions… but Orion had attached greater importance to abstractions that had overshadowed reality before adopting the Matrix. How hadn’t he understood that even all the space fleet couldn’t bring order on the huge planet, in every city of which anarchy had reigned? Now Soundwave couldn’t find out what the ancient artifact had whispered to new Prime. One thing was clear: if archivist Orion Pax had begun the war, stirring up the troubled Cybertron, if he had forced space-jets to turn their weapons not against aborigines of distant worlds, but against their own peaceful brethren, then he had to find courage to see it through. Kaon’s space-jets and hastily upgraded miners and workers hadn’t promised to die for peace on Cybertron. Even with the ships they couldn’t cope with millions of mutinous mecha — and only in that cause Megatron had decided to accept Shockwave's help. If it hadn’t been for his ingenious invention, which enabled to control birth rate on the whole planet, much more of its inhabitants would die. He hadn’t killed anybody, he had only prevented the separatists from enlarging their armies, Vos had won, although nobody had expected this… And Prime had declared it as the betrayal of a great idea. 

Soundwave had just wanted to survive. Spark’s pain hadn’t seemed such a terrible price for an opportunity to do what he had been doing all his life. At the war’s beginning all Megatron’s decisions had seemed reasonable and the only true. It was hard to be faithful to those who, sitting in Iacon’s luxurious apartments, had sent mercenaries to kill you and blow up your ship. It was hard to continue the work, with every klik waiting they would come again — just because you had been in the wrong place and had found out what many had been whispering about, but no one had ventured to announce in public.

Stopped in a step from the bright blue puddle, Soundwave looked into the scarlet lenses of the dying jet. The strips of facets seemed to blur, moving incessantly within less than a millimeter. So, the focus was lost, inside it felt like sensor failure, outside — like opacity, light haze under the shine of the glass. A clear sign of the impending stasis.

— Please hold his hands and shoulders, — the black-red jet asked. — Skydive’ll hold him too, and I’ll repair his wing. 

The left wing turned into a mess of shell fragments, protruded out fuel pipes and blue clusters of biotissue. The ribbed helmet fidgeted on Soundwave's thigh — he had to sit on the jet’s broad shoulders, resting his knees in the hot armor on both sides of the gray cockpit and palms — into the arms crossed on the chestplate. Clinging to the wounded jet was warm, and Soundwave’s systems responded with a happy buzz of servo. But jet’s cries were too loud, they overloaded the audiosensors, and even if Soundwave enjoyed somebody’s suffering, he wouldn’t prefer observing it with such noise.

But if the jet could suffer the welding of the strut without tryings to break away, Soundwave could make up his mind to with the screams and hot energon spatters that were periodically taking off from under the buzzing instrument. Helmet’s protrusions were scraping his armor, white steam was rising from jet’s white faceplate, and blind optics were blurred.

— I can’t! — the terrible sounds, erupted by patient's dynamics, turned into something meaningful, and he whispered: — Please, leave me. Or kill. I can’t fly anymore, please, it’s too painful… Please, stop!

— Strafe, I’ll only fix your wing so you’ll plane down and we’ll bring you to medcentre, and you’ll be fine. You’re strong. You’ll get over it…

— Forgive that I have failed you, — Strafe whined, and Soundwave sensed a wet trickle sliding down his left hand. Maybe it was washer, or energon from tattered lips. — I’m so sorry!

— You haven’t failed! You’re our trine-mate! — furiously argued jets, interrupting each other. — You’ll be repaired, and we’ll fight together! We’ll not leave you, we’ve always been together — and we’ll be together for life!

— They said, I’ve intolerance, — Strafe sobbed, and his desperation gave the unpleasant tremor to Soundwave’s spark. — I can’t be in trine. 

— We’ll find someone who’ll reflash you, — the black-red jet said confidently, activating the miniature welding machine again. — And you’ll never feel pain again. I promise. 

Soundwave put his hand on the wet, smeared faceplate — and gently unfolded, making jet look at him. Soundwave himself didn’t like to look at the fragmented wing, and this was absolutely useless for sparkling. All three weren’t older than one quartex, if they «have always been together», and Soundwave was worried about it more than he should.

Obviously, nobody would have opened the teleport here, on the roof, natural selection flourished in Vos — especially now, when the jets were massively losing rationality from crowdedness and inactivity. Only the strongest survived. The best, who had been deserving the right to be called elite. They flew and fought amazing… but to reflash sparkling, whose neural network was intolerant for it, illegally?!

Streif's lenses seemed to look into Soundwave’s spark. Jet’s dynamic went to reboot, unable to withstand overheating, or completely disconnected, and so he could only look. Jet hardly was seeing Soundwave's faceplate, but he strained his servo to a pain, not allowing the nervous twitch to become noticeable.

He couldn’t save jets from themselves. He wasn’t going to save them at all, but why was his spark aching?


	9. 3.2

Lectures on the discipline explaining the subtleties of the creation of various useful devices, including pseudo-intelligent ones, always passed in the smallest classrooms of the educational buildings. The room, which was resembling the spectator places of the Kaon’s arenas due to the rising semi-circular rows of seats with individual terminals, was almost filled with jets. For a few nanokliks Soundwave, deafened by loud voices and heels’ clacking, didn’t dare to move away from the small door at the end of the highest tier. Even the minimal repair of sparkling, which had managed in the end to plan to the surface and not to crash, had taken more than groon, and Soundwave didn’t have time to visit the refectory before the lecture.

Soundwave choked to his usual chair, located almost in the center of the last row, and leaned on the flexible back, straightening his tired servo. No other lecture would force him now to climb the staircase, the only advantage of which was its inaccessibility to simple mecha who couldn’t break elementary security codes. But these lectures had the highest priority for him among all the other which were being read in the Academy.

— …his existence offends Primus! — loudly resented a fragile gray jet with a scar across the right wing, standing at the bottom, on a small area near the full-walled screen. — Mecha mustn’t resurrect so! He has stolen life of one of us and taken his place…

Soundwave wondered, how had he to resurrect and not to offend the religious feelings of Vos’ inhabitants? Such reasoning Soundwave had heard so many times that he had already lost count. The first resurrection in Cybertron’s history couldn’t escape active gossip in the city without the contact with the world outside. But before jets hadn’t looked so closely, because in most cases Lazerbeak’s sensitive audiosensors had caught their conversations from a safe distance, allowing not to be shown on the optics. And after, when he had managed to pick up passwords for the video surveillance system in dormitories and educational buildings, the information had flowed so powerful that sometimes he had to sacrifice the hibernation’s groons to process and analyze this all.

— But Primus let him resurrect in our sparkling? — asked the broad-shouldered jet with wide red stripes on blue wings, his voice heard shy. 

— This one, — the thin claws shot up, pointing toward Soundwave, and he barely managed to keep the indifferent faceplate’s expression, — has taken sparkling’s frame by deception! How can we know — maybe he had been able taken either frame, but specially had chosen one of us, because he wants to make Vos to surrender to Megatron! Primus is all-powerful and all-seeing, but he can’t see everything, particularly as this unnatural stuff wasn’t created by Primus, so it has defiled…

Perhaps, Soundwave was even flattered to be the reason of the faith crisis in the whole city. They hated Lazerbeak so passionately, believing it was an unnatural creature — and forgot that they came to learn how to create such droids, albeit with less functions. Vos’ jets had been defiling Primus’ idea themselves, for thousands of vorns polishing their own genome to such perfection that even Shockwave was powerless to do anything with it — but in the opinion of such preachers here, it just proved Primus' exclusive love for jets. It was enough once to look at the jets to see their frightening, almost absolute identity. They had two types of the claws, the wings, deployed up or down, insignificant differences in the forms of helmets, shoulder pads, spoilers and other external details, no more than ten faint colors of the plating. 

Soundwave buried his faceplate in his palms folded on the disconnected touch-screen, and regretted that he didn’t have a mask. There, downstairs, outside his review, were the sparklings who were arguing fiercely whether Megatron could crack the force dome of Vos now, who was guilty and what they had to do.

— Let’s kill him now! I believe, we can do Primus’ will such way, and Primus’ll protect us from our enemies! — the gray jet shouted the uneven hum of the voices above.

Soundwave thought about whether to go to the stairs to wait for lecture’s beginning there. Alas, if he had come too early, to run now would mean to show that this jabbering hit him. No normal mecha would discuss the planned murder in the crowd of witnesses and under the camera's lens, so loudly that it was audible in the whole building. Or not? 

In this city every second jet, hardly not every first, believed sacredly that he had in his head a direct channel of communication with Primus himself. Such controversial and illogical ideas were voiced in disputes about how to properly execute his will, that Soundwave's thinking processes began slow down when he tried to understand something. To receive a grain of meaningful information from these cries, where the main argument seemed to be the loudness, was an overwhelming test for his psyche, which had already been shaken from the life in Vos or perhaps from the new life in this unfit frame…

— Above all, we must to destroy his droid, otherwise he’ll return, — the gray jet said it calmly and coldly in the unexpected silence, and hardly had Soundwave opened his lenses he knew where he would see him. Seven steps below the last row.

The jet didn’t look dangerous — his slender and short frame was still sparkling's, he hadn’t any of the upgrades which were prevalent in Vos. No rockets, no swords. Only long claws were raised to cockpit’s level, intertwined and bent, thin and multi-joint like spider's paws. Soundwave knew from the course of basic anatomy, that well-sharpened blades on gleaming phalanges, capable to deflect in any direction and turn almost three hundred and sixty degrees, could cut almost any material. Streif’s wing had been certainly torn with such claws. 

Five steps. Four. Three. Soundwave pressed his spread wings to chair’s back and appreciated the dimensions of the dark green jet who blocked the saving door. He had to tilt his helmet slightly, for not to touch the low ceiling at the end of the classroom. Two more jets were going upstairs, perhaps they were trine-mates of the gray jet. No, it was unlikely, the Vos’ sparklings would come to listen to the lectures so far from military affairs, only when they conceded that nobody would send them into battle. They could live together and call themselves a triad, but … Soundwave had useless things in his mind again.

But even in the former frame, when he had fought with Megatron and defeated him, like the others before — it was unrealistic to deal with so many jets. Forty-two pairs of lenses were looking at every movement, and Lazerbeak didn’t have time to fly to the bottom exit. Megatron would take revenge, or rather try to do it, but what matter would it do if Soundwave didn’t see this?!

— I feel your fear, — barely touching the metal, the claws traced the contour of Soundwave’s mouth and drew invisible lines higher, to his half-closed lenses.

A stiff joint, not sharp enough to injure, painfully lifted his chin, and Soundwave threw back his head, pulling away. He could only keep calm: tightly squeeze his lips, not allowing them to jerk in incomprehensible spasms, and keep his useless hands motionless. Lazerbeak could protect herself much better, and he didn’t want to outmatch her sight.

— Tell us, what does Megatron know about our force dome.

Pain pierced Soundwave’s left lens’ protector so sharply that his spark froze for a moment. Soundwave opened his optics up to the limit, frozen, afraid to move, and completely focused on the slow, tortuously slow movements of thin blades which were scarlet now. They rotated and ranged literally millimeters from the glass, knocking down the focus.

— Are you such a coward, that you can’t speak? — snorted the jet, removing his hand.


	10. 3.3

The sparklings, who had threatened Soundwave, had been laying somewhere below, braking the rows of seats, and he were ventilating often and didn’t hear anything but the hum of his own systems. His processor had nearly refused by overheat, but the long manipulators, which popped out of One-winged's shoulders and flung out four jets exactly for three nanokliks, were definitely real. Like One-winged himself, who was going downstairs. The right, preserved wing of the mentor dragged him to the side, making his walk uneven and swaying.

— So, — he said, leaning on the high pulpit by his turbine, and waved his claws, breaking off a quiet whisper somewhere on the side, — we'll have to begin today's lecture with the repetition of the elementary things we've already learnt. The first question is what is a force dome?

The classroom was silent, and Soundwave thought that the noise from his frame was heard everywhere. He needed calm down. He hadn’t even lost his lens. He had behaved with dignity before, and emitting the stress, like hysterical sparkling, was stupid now. 

— Windsheer? Somebody nearby, kick Windsheer! It seems I might have overdone it, — One-winged grinned broadly.

A tall and massive jet who had guarded the upper door had already woken up and picked up a chair, two more were sitting on the floor, apparently, one of them was trying to straighten second’s arm twisted in his elbow; but the gray jet had been still lying motionless, crushed by a split seat.  
Windsheer. Remember.

— Force dome… it’s a device…

— With generators, — someone whispered distinctly, and Windsheer finally rised to his feet and repeated it louder.

— Who else can say something about the force dome?

Soundwave could, but doubted, that now he was capable of distinct speech. Jets were looking back anxiously. As if they sincerely believed that the mentor offered to give the secret to the enemy. 

— Well, we'll have to simplify the question. How can you overcome the power dome?

— Fooling the sensors or blowing up the generators! — blurted out someone from the lower rows.

— You can mislead the system, but it is duplicated by live observers and security cameras. If somebody attacks us, we'll notice it in the first kliks. But our decepticon’s brother can’t help our enemies.

It was difficult to discern something meaningful in this cacophony of subdued voices and gnashing of the seats. Soundwave caught One-winged’s view, and the angle of mouth twitched — so Soundwave leaned one side of his faceplate on his palm, which seemed to be icy.

— Why? — asked One-winged, easily shouting above the noise. — Who’ll tell me what precedes Kaon, except Megatron, who had called it his capital? I’m waiting! Windsheer? Blurr? Cyclonus? Drench? — jets, already fully recovered from the unexpected flight in roboform, shook their heads uncertainly, and One-winged began to ask the others. No effect. — So, nobody here had been learning geography?!

— There are ships in Kaon, — said sparkling with long scarlet chevrons on each side of his purple helmet. — Starships.

What else could they be, Soundwave wished to know?! Oh, he shouldn’t have come here today, but it would be the greatest stupidity to spoil relations with One-winged by leaving now. Soundwave needed such manipulators. He had seen many times how One-winged connected to the console with their help, unloading various files on the screen and correcting them by thought, but until recent events Soundwave hadn’t known how effective these manipulators were as a weapon. Lazerbeak could also control the console, sitting on the connectors and supporting wireless communication with her carrier, but raise and instantly throw her own weight, not to mention Soundwave’s… 

— Thanks Primus, someone isn’t completely hopeless! — snorted One-winged. — And what do you deduce from that?

— We’ll notice starship come, even if it’s small… and they had no reason attack Soundwave, hadn’t they? 

— We had! — screamed Windsheer, leaning forward and scratching the touchscreen so hard that tiny sparks appeared. — No matter how hard decepticons try they haven’t penetrated any autobot city except Kaon’s satellite and Stanix, because their ships can’t destroy a force dome until they know where generators are… And this spy is looking for them or has already found, and we have to do anything…

The manipulator dashed forward and upward, long and shining by yellow patterned stripes on its sides, now Soundwave watched it carefully, including the moment of appearance. If Windsheer was sitting not too high One-winged would reach him. But the seats, like the small terminals, were metal, and the discharge blew through them with a bright flash. 

— Well, you didn’t bother to learn the basics of geography, — the manipulator rocked near Windsheer, who felt to the floor and was still twitching by his wings, and slipped silently backward, hiding beneath the armor plate on One-winged’s chestplate. — But have you ever looked at heaven? So, everyone, look out the window! Is here someone else who has never noticed that huge thing on the rock? From the top it isn’t so difficult to notice it, right? Sadly, even the most perfect camouflage of the generators won’t save us. Because here’s simply no place to put all of them, and this fact should be obvious to everyone who thinks by processor! It follows that you all should learn, because in case of war the force dome won’t save you! And only because of the fact, that in my lectures you aren’t understanding what you’re doing and what kind of benefits you personally may receive from, our warriors and sparklings will perish, because you are useless ballast! Explain to me, why do you go to my lectures?! Rainbow? Greywing? Blackfire? Do you have nothing to say?!

One-winged listed those sparklings who usually answered questions and said reasonable things — at any rate, they hadn’t any hope that Soundwave wouldn’t distinguish the generator from the stone ledge. Although, perhaps, Windsheer continued to argue from pure obstinacy. But even the best cadets preferred to remain silent.

— And Soundwave doesn’t listen to me at all, does you?

— I'd like to design a few droids that can seamlessly penetrate anywhere, hack into terminal memory, leave bombs and activate them at a distance… maybe to create very simple droids, disposable and disguised as something innocuous, to protect the territory or to kill specific mecha, — his voice creaked and crackled stronger than usual, but mentor’s lenses shone with a keen interest, and Soundwave had to continue: — I want also make pair droid, scout and defender, who can be united in one largest… and after work on their programs, as I hope, they will be able to make decisions and commit sabotage on enemy targets, disabling and destroying the equipment.

— Primus knows, Soundwave is the only one in this classroom who clearly knows what he wants… unlike you, half-wits! If tomorrow we’re attacked, only I and he can bring some benefit to Vos, and the droids, as well as air defense systems, will protect the city much more efficiently than combat triads! You're going to defend our city, Soundwave, aren’t you?

— Yes. 

«If autobots attack», — he said mentally, but decepticons didn’t plan to attack Vos. In any case, not tomorrow.

One-winged went on the rant about idiots which he had to teach, and Soundwave closed his lenses, trying to curb conflicting emotions. Praise was always pleasant, and hardly even the sharpest comparison in his favor could change something for the worse — but he was disgusted. If he hadn’t died, he would have turned a million. For a million quartexes anyone would understand what's what. Even these sparklings.


	11. 4.1. Time to act

The black-red jet with which Soundwave had to divide the room was sitting on his berth, holding one of his datapads in his claws. Jet didn’t even turn his head, although he must feel cold air from the corridor. Narrowed lenses were flickering on his wide faceplate, unusually concentrated. 

Waiting half a klik, Soundwave gave the mental order to Lazerbeak — it was difficult for her to cause serious damage, but the most powerful shot could definitely provide a short-term numb of servo. And so it happened, jet’s massive hand jerked, curtailed by a sharp cramp, and the gray-steel datapad struck hard against the foam covering, then fell to the floor. It seemed that the shell, which protected miniature memory chips, wasn’t affected. The same data could be structured and transferred from Soundwave’s hard drives to less than a groon. Detailed description of Lazerbeak’s specifications intended for One-winged… but not for the sparkling, with which she sometimes had to stay alone!

Rising, he tried to grab Soundwave — but numbed servo still didn’t obey fully, and short claws only scratched the air in millimeters from his armor. He banged his broken leg on the edge of the berth. His wings rushed to the sides themselves, helping to maintain balance. 

— I haven’t stood up yet — and you’re already afraid? — grinning, jet reached for the datapad lying on the floor. Blindly, without removing his lenses from Soundwave, although how could he interfere?

— Don’t you dare touch my things, — this voice, with all his diligence, didn’t sound sufficiently menacing.

— Are you so greedy? And what will you do?

Lazerbeak fell off his chestplate, soaring to the ceiling, and jet’s scarlet lenses flared brighter than flame from engines, when the maximum discharge paralyzed him. For two or three nanokliks, no longer. Soundwave jumped awkwardly onto jet's berth, stumbling over some small thingy. It looked like a portable holographic projector. Lazerbeak’s accumulators would be enough at best for a dozen shots of similar power. Their consequences slowed operation of jet’s system, but there were no more than four kliks to search for something that could work as a weapon. 

Soundwave was annoyed by the mess in the room probably from the cycle that he had first come here. But right now, the functionality of this hated, fragile, useless frame depended on how fast he could find something on neighbor’s shelves.

Of course, all the jets, considered warriors, flashed their neural networks. With all the sensors — two own lenses and Lazerbeak’s fragmented receptors — Soundwave was seeing how fast jet’s massive servo were recovering after the brief numbness. The third discharge jet caught on his upturned left hand, even without flinching. He almost grabbed Lazerbeak’s thin wing.

Shelves which were closer to the window were filled up with trash so that they didn’t close, and rushing Lazerbeak transmitted clear video. Soundwave was afraid turning his back on jet, who had already risen on his feet and was able at any moment to reach Soundwave in this cramped space. He was afraid — and despised himself for it, probably infected with common madness.

Stacks of datapads — too light and fragile, in their stuffing there was nothing that could puncture the armor. Unevenly folded pieces of fabric. Jars and tubes: disinfectants, polishes, cleaners… As luck would have it, no aggressive liquid capable of causing significant harm. Soundwave counted on throwing stars, but, apparently, they had ended or had been removed in sub-space. Some repair tools — a soldering iron, a scalpel, anything! — would completely replace the weapon, but the feverish inspection of the shelves indicated that there was nothing. Under the ceiling, unknown details were stored, but all the cutting or melting was concealed either behind the other door or in very depth, and Lazerbeak needed at least two kliks to crack the protection remotely…

— Is this all? — grinned jet.

The last shot didn’t even slow him down, spilling over the dimly glittering cockpit. It was worthwhile to aim at the lenses. But now Lazerbeak’s batteries were almost exhausted, and Soundwave gave her a command to plan down carefully, on the worn gray coating of the berth. He would take it into account next time, if, of course, he had this next time. 

His left wing touched ice window, and his spark froze, pierced by the cold instantly spreading through his frame. In jet’s lenses there was lenient curiosity, and Soundwave clutched his teeth. Logic — or, no less probable, naive hope — suggested that if jets wanted to kill him, then they would do it many cycles back, but fear stretched nanokliks into a paralyzing, exhausting infinity. To step to the right and go down to the floor, near the door, so as not to touch jet’s straightened wing. To pick up the datapad and get out of here, habitually ignoring attempts to start a conversation. It was so simple and so impossible.

— You’re trembling.

Windsheer had spoken with same intonation before closing his sharp claw to Soundwave’s lens, and he didn’t wait when jet’s palm touched him. Lazerbeak saw something large and metallic on the fourth shelf, and Soundwave groped the steel pipe on the first try. His spark painfully jerked, following his hand, which was strangling the unknown object with all his strength. But with a creaking and gnashing this heavy slag freed from the rest rubbish, being a folding stool of two steps. For guests — or for such short mecha as Soundwave, to change the lights on the ceiling or get to the upper shelves.

He felt a heavy weight in his hand, no, he would only crush the stool into pieces if he hit on jet’s helmet or chestplate. Nobody had died after his cockpit was cracked. Soundwave turned slightly, marking the central anchorage in the crossing of the door and the edge of the shelf, and it was true: the stool split up, leaving two legs in cramped fingers. Shaking out the less sharp and taking a short step forward, Soundwave vividly imagined the scheme from a lecture on anatomy. He fit it to the picture from the optosensors, as if he really could see through the armor — and hit with a jagged, curved end.

Blunt — but capable of skewing his exoskeleton — claws scratched his side, the flash of jet’s lenses knocked down the video stream, the wings were hit against something hard… but Soundwave’s hand squeezed the broken stool leg confidently and firmly, pressing deeper. Jet froze in an uncomfortable position, painfully pressing down the lower part of Soundwave’s frame, and the work of thought was clearly read in jet’s scarlet lenses. Sensing his trembling, Soundwave pushed harder, overcoming the resistance of strong shells that protected jet’s central neurotrunk.

— I’m going to stop energon. May I?

Jet’s fuel from his torn line was splashed out. Well, at least it was warm — much warmer than awareness of Soundwave’s first victory in this new frame. For one of the best Kaon’s gladiators there was little honor in the victory over the sparkling, who didn’t even try to defend himself. But it was surprisingly pleasant to see the fear in his lenses. Only the fools didn’t fear, and the jets died just like the inhabitants of the surface, if you knew where to strike.

Nodding briefly, Soundwave felt a vibration in the depths of jet's frame. Energon was still flowing, but through the noise of jet’s ventilation systems it was audible how plugs were closing with blind clicks and fittings were turning, blocking the necks of his main tanks. Jet could also fight with fuel poured from his broken throat. Soundwave himself was capable of such tricks before, like any gladiator. But not with a piece of iron that pressed on the neurotrunk. 

— What do you want? — now jet’s wide-open lenses looked wary, and Soundwave’s sensors felt the intense electromagnetic field from jet’s impending frame… but it was foolish to expect that the effect of surprise would work second time.


	12. 4.2

Soundwave’s joints stiffened from icy water, and every movement caused deadly pain, but he still felt himself dirty, although energon had long been washed away. He had to hurry, until nobody came to the wash, until nobody knew what had happened… But his frozen fingers rubbed smooth armor stubbornly, almost scraping the cover. No matter how hard Soundwave tried to get away from the small splashes, they flew from somewhere under the ceiling at unimaginable angles, bumping into the lenses and distorting everything around. Thousands of vorns regular psychologists had reiterated his highest level of mental stability. His amazing ability to extinguish in the bud the conflicts that inevitably arose when mecha were living for a long time in a ship not being able to escape or evade communication. Ha. Soundwave always knew that psychologists couldn’t be trusted. They all lied. «Is this a task?» — he had asked, when he had heard this for the first time, but they had believed that his presence was enough to normalize the tense atmosphere. Of course, all the tests and conversations had been conducted before a corrosive grenade had taken Soundwave’s voice, but he wouldn’t have called himself talkative before. Fortunately, clever mecha had written hundreds of instructions, and every navigator could find a business that required seclusion in the unnecessary technical compartments of the ship. Should someone check whether everything was in order, whether the systems would be able to withstand a hyper jump or fight with an incomprehensible alien threat, although the probability of such an event had aspired to zero?

Now Darkstar was rusting in the dump, and other mecha raised the other ships for the battles. Perhaps, death had erased not only his place in this world, but also his abilities invented by psychologists? In the Academy of Vos, proudly calling himself «the freest Cybertron’s city», nobody had bothered to compose neither a charter, nor instructions. Well, Soundwave guessed that he wouldn’t be praised for the injured sparkling, but would prefer to know exactly what to expect. 

Soundwave hated to do something without enough information, but admitted that there was no choice now. The black-red jet, whose name Soundwave had never known, probably had already loaded up memories of what had happened, and this couldn’t be called self-defense. Okay, the fights at the Academy happened often and usually ended a cycle or two at the brig… But Soundwave had ordered this sparkling to get out of his own room and never return, hadn’t he? «It isn’t my problem, where you’ll live» — such a message Soundwave had dropped to jet's comlink. Idiot. Self-confident and careless, like all these jets.

But he wasn’t a jet — even if the damned mirror reminded him of the opposite, reflecting his wings trembling from the cold, his thin frame with a mass of functional jet’s details and his pretty white faceplate. Jets, on which Soundwave’s life depended — Skyjack, Firefly and Unicron knew who else — perfectly understood who Soundwave really was. And he didn’t even know what they wanted. They were gathering the largest army on Cybertron and keeping all their ships on its surface, but Soundwave hadn’t enough information for reasonable assumptions on whom they would attack and why.

In the tiny room with mirrored walls, he was walking throughout, trying to wipe the moisture from stupid long wings and at least somehow to keep warm. These thin fingers had frozen and ached, even as Soundwave had been washing the floor in his room. There was energy on the city-lighting, from which optosensors were always failing, — and there was no heating, really? Of course, jets needn’t feel anything, why did they need warm water and electric dryers?! There was all of it, by the way, in the tower where Snowflake had been living with his curator. Probably, the wiring of the overcrowded dormitory couldn’t withstand such loads, but this logical explanation didn’t help in warming! And Airrazor, rust him, had never once contacted Soundwave from the moment he had realized himself. This had only confirmed that he had guessed… but his spark was twitching from anger. If Airrazor had explained Vos' unwritten traditions in time, as a normal curator…

Although did Soundwave really know what should and shouldn’t do curators in this city? Perhaps, jets were considered adults after the first flight, and everything had been, from Airrazor’s point of view, by agreement? No, even in Vos, a sparkling — particularly the sparkling who had spent in aggregate with others no more than a cycle and the rest of the time had been playing with the puzzles given to him — couldn’t make concious decisions about the interface… or conclude sparkbond. Airrazor had said that it was very serious and it was necessary to grow up for this, therefore, he had distinguished the sparkling from the adult jet. Soundwave shook his head angrily, driving away irrelevant thoughts, which were aroused his neural network unnecessarily. Now other was more important.

Data about One-winged was sorely lacking too, but at least his real name was found out. Pinpointer. Soundwave wasn’t sure that this wasn’t a nickname too, he didn’t know how to lead the conversation better and was hopelessly late for the lecture, but after today he might not have other chance. It remained only to hope that One-winged was interested in Lazerbeak’s structure.

Soundwave returned to his room, cleaned his datapad from energon… and blinked in confusion, studying the list of recent open files. Sparkling had been looking for something in synopses of anatomy. However, now it no longer mattered. Soundwave stroked Lazerbeak’s graceful wings, replacing her to the usual place, removed the datapad into his sub-space and went outside. 

From the sky, covered with dirty-grey clouds, weightless grains of snow were falling and gathering in tiny tornadoes below, and the city looked even more bright than usual. Soundwave didn’t hurry, knowing that he would have to wait for the end of the lecture, and it was undoubtedly more pleasant to look at the twinkling of snowflakes and the multicolored glowing windows than at the locked door. 

After fifteen kliks, Soundwave dived from the roof — a five-level flight was too short for warming up, but heating worked in the spacious hall, so that his wings fluttered all the controlled planes instantly — and wandered through the passages and stairs. Lazerbeak was catching sounds from all the auditoriums and corridors: snatches of conversations, footsteps, creaks of shifted chairs. If desired, Soundwave could use her to hear what One-winged was telling now, connecting to the video surveillance system, but there were a few kliks until the end of the lecture, and the camera was shooting sparklings, not the screen. Although, for example, lectures about the means of electronic warfare were usually read at one time with lectures on electronic devices, and then Soundwave had to be content with only voice recording. It was very pity that Lazerbeak could get the audio only from three cameras maximum at the same time…

— So, hurry and don’t forget your things! — snapped One-winged, seeing Soundwave through the half-open door, and he twisted his wings irritatedly. He didn’t want to attract excess attention, but since it happened, he hurried to One-winged. — You weren’t at the lecture, Soundwave. Any problems?

— I hope not, — the angle of his mouth twitched, and for a moment he thought that his voice would also fail, turning into a crackling noise and a cacophony of horribly high notes. — I wanted to talk about manipulators. And I brought something, — his datapad, stretched to One-winged, contained information about what Lazerbeak could, but not about how it had been done. If Soundwave calculated correctly, jets were unable to do at least some of it.

Well, judging by how eagerly One-winged was looking through the long lines of the glyphs, so it was. Soundwave had more trouble to share the results of almost two vorns of labor than he expected. He was feeling One-winged’s electromagnetic field and looking at the movements of facets in his wide lenses, but even the maximum of Lazerbeak’s perception didn’t let know what thoughts were flashing under his brown helmet.

— I propose a bargain, — Soundwave said, as soon as One-winged had finished reading. — I need such manipulators, and in return I’ll provide all the data about the droid.


	13. 4.3

— You need commandant’s permission for any upgrade. This isn’t a removable weapon, which you can always refuse, this is a serious surgery.

Soundwave’s spark was vibrating so that it almost hurt, and his voice jingled treacherously, piercing and wheezing: 

— They don’t let me do the upgrade.

— Why do you say that? — One-winged looked with some frightening sympathy, and Soundwave didn’t know how to respond to it. — Understand, the inspection before any reflashing is done for a reason. You may have intolerance, and you’ll forever remain a cripple with a burned neuronet. If you were an ordinary Vos’ citizen, you would have been killed because of mercy, but…

— I have no intolerance, — Soundwave said stubbornly. — I’ve already tried to reflash myself in this frame. The doctor said that it had been necessary to be examined first, yes, and that I’m very lucky, but my neural network can stand it. And then, how will this surgery be done by someone who doesn’t understand what upgrade he’s installing?

— Sit down and relax, — One-winged didn’t seem angry, but Soundwave bit the smooth rubber of his mouth from inside.

He was swallowing fuel, pressing his alien, naughty wings to the back of his chair — how, Unicron, did jets manage to sit with them? — and staring at his own legs, shiny and thin. Even their color caused a fleeting surprise, until memory prompted that now they would always be like this. The silence was being broken only by a low hum of ventilation, and Lazerbeak's optosensors followed One-winged closely. He leant against his pulpit and was looking at Soundwave too. He didn’t dare to look up or say something, and his processor overheated from understanding that it was necessary to do. He didn’t know what words could convince One-winged to violate Vos’ laws.

— I wouldn’t mind if you get such manipulators, even if you didn’t bring me this priceless information about your droid. Are you saying you had done all of it yourself? — it was difficult to nod normally by lowered head, but the smile that exposed the sharp grey dents showed that One-winged noticed this. — Primus knows, you deserve such an upgrade, and you're right, it’s difficult surgery. I can’t do it myself, but Rampage, who had installed me these manipulators, is still alive, and I don’t think that he’ll refuse… But the manipulators don’t lie in warehouses like other upgrades.

— I can make them.

He hadn’t any materials or tools and didn’t imagine the structure of manipulators clearly, but such a trifle couldn’t become a serious obstacle. Lazerbeak also existed in the single copy, and any repetition would have become a completely different droid. However, she had to be improved, but this task was still in background process. Lazerbeak couldn’t protect her carrier even with increasing the capacity of her batteries. 

— Really? — One-winged snorted. — I like your self-confidence. But I’d feel better if I do it by myself. And there is one more thing that you should know about — not all the upgrades may be combined, I think you understand why. I have copied for you the catalog of upgrades that are offered in the administration, think, maybe you need something else. My manipulators are quite specific. 

— I've already decided, — Soundwave finally dared to look up and tried to smile; hardly it looked aesthetically pleasant with his twitching mouth, but One-winged seemed to be used to see it.

— If you change your mind, I'll just have spare parts.

Exactly, Soundwave himself wouldn’t have refused second or third Lazerbeak, but he’d like to change something…

He went into the refectory, still smiling, thinking about the concept of new, improved droids, and barely managed to keep the calm expression of his faceplate when he noticed Windsheer and his company. His attentive look seemed to stick to Soundwave’s armor. Windsheer turned away almost immediately, pretending to be completely entranced with his portion of energon. But Soundwave had to turn his back to that angle, and he considered unreasonable to dismiss Lazerbeak. 

It was foolish to pretend that he didn’t care, but it was even more stupid to change his mind about refueling. Although now Soundwave was swallowing fuel as quickly as possible and already doubted that he was right. Fortunately, his mouth didn’t twitch, and his wings and hands didn’t tremble. Windsheer and his friends didn’t look at Soundwave anymore, but it was hard to pass the table with four tightly silent jets serene, without any hurrying.

Never before the icy wind, that was throwing snow crumb into his faceplate, brought such joy. His fans howled from the too sharp blowing of cold, scalding air. But his frame was recycling freshly received energy and didn’t freeze during a short flight to twenty-eight level. Near the entrance, two unfamiliar cadets stepped aside, skipping Soundwave into the corridor, and their equal narrow lenses had an incomprehensible expression. Well, screw them.

The room met Soundwave with darkness and silence, his neighbor hadn’t returned yet, judging by the wreckage still lying on his berth. He could have complained a hundred times anywhere, but for now Soundwave’s comlink was silent, and he was going to employ kliks of seclusion in the best way. To read the files One-winged had transmitted, for example.

Ever since Soundwave looked through the list of titles — just titles! — he had slammed his helmet into the hard berth, hiding his insane smile. The surveillance camera didn’t work from the first cycle, as he had settled here, but his habit to hide his emotions was too strong. First, he needed to restore his mask, giving it a display function and expanding the field of vision. Second… Oh, One-winged was right, the need for choice was melting Soundwave’s processor, he wanted everything listed in this catalog and had already figured out how to improve himself unspecified ways! It was disappointing that his new frame was so small, the previous would fit more…

— They should have killed me. But they’ll still regret that they didn’t, — he played Shockwave's voice barely audible.

Five vorns ago, on Cybertron’s satellite, turned into a prison even while previous Primes had been alive, Soundwave had come unnoticed in the laboratory, where the ceremony of empurata had been held. The guard had missed him, because criminals sentenced to a softer punishment had gone from here with same displays — flecked by glyphs of prayers. It was Primus’ mercy, damn him. It had been easy to display on Soundwave’s screen smoothly creeping lines of sacred texts. It had been much more difficult to drag heavy Shockwave, dripping energon from where his faceplate had been before. Now bare contacts had glinted dimly and the dark shell of his brain module had protruded, not completely cleansed of the biotissue. Soundwave had been shooting with one hand, backing to the exit and mentally begging Shockwave not to shut down, and had believed in some kliks, that they would have time to reach… until they had heard rustling of wheels. Dozens of security droids had been approaching from all the sides. 

At this moment Shockwave had uttered these words. And then he had transformed and rammed a wall of minimum security cameras, first by plasma and then by himself. Well, autobots had regretted and probably were still regretting. Shockwave had given freedom hundreds of freed civilians and destroyed Aequitas, the supercomputer supposedly endowed with wisdom to make a fair verdict. And Soundwave had been helping him, firing at the droids and broadcasting Megatron's speech about freedom. 

If Shockwave — the scientist who had refused military service and been crippled by autobots’ executioners — had found the courage to get out of the desperate situation and pull out Soundwave… then he really had no right to surrender now.


	14. 5.1

Slim Windsheer’s silhouette flashed in front of the camera on the training ground of the second academic building, and Soundwave opened clamps on his right manipulator, dropping to the floor a chip of neighbor’s berth. Now after two deca-cycles in which nobody had been sent to occupy the vacant part of the room, it was possible to work out on the inanimate object… Soundwave’s additional servo, flexible and strong, coped with the task well, perhaps, he could risk to fight with a living enemy. It would be more accurate to call him reasonable, but Soundwave doubted the ability of this particular sparkling to use his brain module. The reasonable opponent would appear later.

Windsheer, as Soundwave had known, fought worse than jets that ranked themselves among the elite — but with long education periods caused by the five-vorns demographic explosion, nobody younger than ten quartexes couldn’t expect to get into a combat triad. Such a policy was conducted in Vos by Skyjack and Firefly, and it seemed reasonable. There were too much warriors, and nobody would risk retraining them to process data, punch weapons or repair water pipes. There had been several hundred sparklings in the city earlier, but now the repairers flew off the handle, trying to do everything everywhere.

It should have been a battle of equals, and that's why Lazerbeak had been watching for a long time how jets were fighting. Anyway, Soundwave had been laying — at its best, sitting — in the medcentre, listening to unusual tingling in his new details, not synchronized yet with his neural network. Long manipulators had been hovering around his body, occasionally twitching, and he had been able also look at other patients with his own lenses. Illustrative examples to courses of anatomy and first aid, perhaps, weren’t useless information, but how boring it had been!

To get to the small training ground, it was enough to fly a narrow street — not a beam leading from the smelting pit in Vos’ center, but rather a thin way between the two beams. Jets were circling opposite each other, splitting into pairs, someone was with a sword, someone without. Soundwave counted six pairs, and twice as many sparklings stood along the edges of the ground, discussing the fighting. To the left Windsheer stood, his wings looked almost black against the background of the brightly shining lamp-columns.

The gestures of invitation to the battle for sword and claws were different, and Soundwave wondered for a moment which one to use. Probably, his manipulators should have been demonstrated at once, and this facilitated his choice — it was impossible to beckon by clamps rigidly set at their ends. End of a sword pointing at the opponent should have been twisted at the level of his chestplate. 

Judging by the cruel joy in Windsheer’s lenses, he considered Soundwave a useless opponent and perhaps was right. Yes, these clamps could grab the jet by his wing and throw him into the wall — it was only very desirable to remain the movement unnoticed until the last moment. 

Now Soundwave was backing away cautiously, luring Windsheer to a free place, releasing new servos full-length, and didn’t have time to catch his hands. His claws flashed so quickly that they seemed blurred. Soundwave’s clamps set at the gray wrist for a nanoklik — and the blades arched, painfully scratching the braid of manipulators. Lazerbeak was hovering overhead, giving a full view, and there was an edge of the roof behind, from which it was easy to step if the situation became critical. There was standing someone, looking at Soundwave with curiosity. After all, the cadets of this generation couldn’t see manipulators in training. One-winged had nothing to do here. But there was enough space for retreat.

Windsheer stepped forward, bent over, pulling back and not allowing to wrap the manipulators around his waist, and Soundwave had to suck in a couple of meters of both manipulators that had cooled down in the wind. Their parts that were inside were uncomfortably cold, distracting, and Soundwave didn’t immediately realize what he was wrong with. He raised his hand awkwardly only when sharp claws almost touched his faceplate. His armor had withstood, albeit at the cost of deep cuts, but his block failed. Rather, it was like an awkward attempt to drop Windsheer's hands, bumping into scorching ice blades again and again. And maybe Soundwave’s thin hands couldn’t take a blow, and his armor was suitable for them, unreliable and flimsy… No, he shouldn’t have allowed the enemy so close!

Soundwave jumped off the claws and almost lost balance — it was unlikely that the floor was slippery, it seemed that Soundwave still didn’t really control his own legs — and then he lifted his manipulators sharply and stuck their clamps at the root of the gray wings. His flexible servos were strained to the limit. Windsheer fell to his left knee, and the vibrating planes of his wings were crawling out of Soundwave’s grip as hard as Soundwave tried to squeeze it. He barely had enough strength to keep Windsheer in place, claws were cutting through the frosty air just a few millimeters from the protruding cockpit. Soundwave couldn’t damage Windsheer’s fairings, not to mention the consoles of wings beneath them. 

Well, Soundwave still had the last remedy, and he mentally called Lazerbeak, opening his medpanel. A light discharge could bring pleasure, artificially exciting a neural network, a stronger one would cause pain and numbness of the servos for a time… Windsheer activated the sensitivity blocking definitely, and Soundwave put in an electric hit everything he could. It would be more practical to paralyze Windsheer’s arms from his elbows and below, but they should still have been caught and held.

Windsheer plunged heavily onto the floor, staring in surprise. Lens’ protectors on his elongated faceplate were often trembling, his claws fell limply and now squeezed his hips, almost tearing them to energon. It wasn’t in vain that Soundwave had been charging batteries — his own and Lazerbeak’s — from the city network all the time of hibernation. This wasn’t very healthy even with such quality filters as his droid, but it was irreplaceable in some situations.

— Kill me! — Windsheer squealed so loudly that jets began to turn. — What’re you waiting for?!

Even if Soundwave didn’t see all these jets with his sidelight — puzzled, appreciating, interested, — he would have realized that he attracted the attention of all the jets on the ground, by the sudden silence. Lazerbeak was distinguishing the buzz of engines below, in the streets, but here could be heard only the wheezing of Windsheer’s ventilation systems. Someone quietly clanged by sword, moving closer. Soundwave didn’t like that jets were looking at him that way. And the more he didn’t like that he was surrounded on three sides. From the fourth there was the wall without an exit.

Megatron loved to kill — and to do it spectacularly, with fountains of fuel and fragments of details flying to all directions, so that crowd had been screeching his name and greedily staring at every gesture. But Soundwave had never aspired to such attention. He had just confirmed his qualifications, getting the deserved place in the ranking of fighters, and mecha in the stands often hadn’t even had time to understand exactly what had happened.

He also thought it was foolish to kill his sparring partners. 

— Do it yourself, — he suggested melodiously to Windsheer, who was desperately screaming insults and this idiotic request, more like a demand. — You're not a coward, right?

Soundwave turned around, bowed to other jets, as had been customary in the arenas, and jets parted, escorting him with the sights of equally scarlet lenses, and for some reason he was unusually keenly aware of his fragility. It seemed that he was smaller than any of those presented. Well, but they respected the power, and now Soundwave managed to demonstrate it.


	15. 5.2

— Snowflake, listen to me! Can’t we just talk like two sensible jets?!

I'm not Snowflake, Soundwave thought irritatedly, attacking again — this time from above and obliquely, holding his manipulator to Airrazor’s massive shoulder-strap. The clamps clicked hollowly, converging and scattering tiny sparks. I'm not a jet, and you can’t shut up almost five kliks — and for this time long ago you could say whatever you want. As if your belated apologies can change something! 

Again by. Airrazor weighed perhaps ten tons more than Windsheer — but Airrazor was moving faster, and Soundwave struck the screen hanging to the right of the platform. Multicolored glinting fragments flew to all the directions. Snowflake liked to look at the starry sky before the hibernation, moving on this screen, but now Soundwave shouldn’t show his clumsiness. Fortunately, this room was very small, and it was easy to pretend that he was hitting walls or things. 

The plan was simple, like all ingenious: paralyze and slowly break off the details, piece by piece. It would be more obvious to start with the spike, but such a dodgy jet should first have been deprived of the opportunity to resist. Although Airrazor had devoted himself to science and had never really learnt how to fight, he was a jet. Lifted a low cabinet, Soundwave threw it into the wall, shaking and wagging his second manipulator, so as not to fall. All these things, like the owner of the room, aroused memories — Snowflake’s memories — and to destroy this fake comfort was painfully pleasant. Soundwave came to do what he thought was right, and no emotion could stop him; but all the same, his spark quivered often from a mixture of pity, anger, disdain and Unicron knew what else. But the manipulators didn’t tremble, and Soundwave’s faceplate… it seemed, his smirk had just been frightening Airrazor more, and it pleased. 

Cold air touched the wings, someone opened the entrance — was it a new victim, which had replaced Snowflake on this berth? — and Lazerbeak soared to the ceiling. Airrazor leaned forward, but instantly froze, as Soundwave activated the drill mode on his right manipulator. Staying too far to strike him by claws, he shook his quietly buzzing clamps, directed to Airrazor faceplate.

— What's going on here? — Skyjack smiled. Another unfamiliar jet paused at the entrance, staring at Lazerbeak.

— Maybe you tend to incline sparklings to an interface, but we, below, kill for this!

— Babe, did I ever do something that would be unpleasant to you? — Airrazor asked softly, and the tone of his voice reminded Soundwave about ancient legends, where the Primes defeated Unicron, and about amazing stars that Snowflake loved to listen to.

Soundwave himself, probably for all the million of quartexes he had lived, had never been so naively and carefree happy, never felt such unobtrusive and benevolent care. All this turned out to be a lie. His manipulator rushed to such the friend — and so hateful — faceplate, and already after giving the mental command to the maximum discharge Soundwave thought briefly that he wouldn’t reach. But the air would be ionized sufficiently…

Skyjack intercepted the manipulator over the clamps, a dazzling flash knocked out Soundwave’s optosensors for a moment, going into the wall, but Lazerbeak regularly recorded everything that happened in the room, while his lenses were adapting to the darkness. Airrazor tried to recoil even before the discharge, but Soundwave saw how Skyjack’s fist crashed into Airrazor’s faceplate. The good blow. Even with Skyjack’s weight and power he needed to know where and how to beat to instantly shut a mecha down.

Soundwave’s servos rattled violently, tensing his manipulator painfully, but he couldn’t pull it out of Skyjack’s claws. The second jet was approaching to the Soundwave from the back, and, unlike the fight on the roof, now the lack of energy was felt like the fatigue bending to the floor, but strange, unnatural calm filled his spark, and it was impossible even to call Lazerbeak. 

— It's also considered dishonest to abuse the sparklings in Vos, — said Skyjack reassuringly; he unclasped his fingers, but Soundwave’s manipulator fell to the floor limply. — After your departure, Airrazor offered himself as a curator for another three sparklings, and one of them agreed. We have no reason not to believe you, and we are serious about such things in Vos, so I promise that Airrazor won’t escape punishment. Firefly and I will investigate this situation to protect other sparklings… and after that you’ll be able to carry out the verdict yourself if you want. Usually, rapists are deprived of the spike, but if you want to kill him, it can also be discussed. 

He should have come here earlier. Or at least he should have sent memories, because in the worst case jets would just be laughed at. But in Kaon, even before the war, justice had been performed by space fleet officers and soldiers, because civilians feared to descend into the underground slums and the elite Senate guards knew only how to leave behind mountains of death bodies, without knowing who was right and who was guilty.

But now the long and sharp claws of the inconspicuous jet were stroking Soundwave’s wings, and even it was scary to look at it. Whether the half-darkness deceived the perception of the droid, or something influenced on Soundwave, preventing him to concentrate, but he wouldn’t visually recognize this jet in crowd. Confident touch didn’t cause pain, and only occasionally the miniature servo under the plating felt long spasms, ehoing somewhere in the back.

— Did you wear the mask because you had been wounded in the faceplate? — Skyjack’s scarlet lenses glowed brightly in the dark, flashing on his dents and distorting the moving lips.

Soundwave determinated the energy signal of second jet and dropped to both the video that had been once taken by Lazerbeak in a laboratory near Kaon. Neither before nor after the operation his mask wasn’t removed, and this video was the only one. Soundwave hadn’t been particularly eager to look at this mess of melted and corroded biotissue, but he had known that it would be nice for Shockwave. In the end, thanks to his genius, Soundwave had gained the better vision, with a great viewing angle and fantastic focus clarity. Shockwave’s lens had much more functions, but for a spy it was enough.

— You would be helped by the firmware that gives you control over your frame, but you can’t use it until you're comfortable with your new upgrade, — seemingly enveloping sympathy sounded in this vaguely familiar voice, and Soundwave’s spark froze, pierced with horror.

«Do you want to talk to me about mercy?». Now Soundwave understood why Snowflake was so frightened then, in the protective zone — and why all the mentioning about Firefly were full of misunderstandings and made jets lower the volume. Too late, and the fact that telepathy was officially considered «a potentially possible mutation undocumented for a lack of data», as Shockwave would say, made the situation worse. Even if, thanks to Firefly, Soundwave’s wings didn’t pressure by the painfully heavy weight on his back — for the first time in the new frame… Soundwave still couldn’t notice a breaking of his hard drives, but it wasn’t too consoling.


	16. 5.3

A long way on foot — practically across the whole city — helped to calm. Soundwave was still feeling helpless and tired. He was supposed to navigate the ship with everyone who was dear to him, blindly, trusting Skyjack and Firefly. A former raider, who had seized power in the quartexes of change, and a telepath capable of burning spark from a distance. In theory, of course, choosing between the collapse of spark and the issuance of all the secrets of the decepticon’s side, Soundwave inclined to the first option without hesitation, but it seemed that Firefly couldn’t read thoughts. Otherwise, why did he ask what Megatron wanted to achieve?

Soundwave noticed from afar a motionless sitting figure near the second academic building — not too many jets could be seen on the surface, especially since large, heavy snowflakes were falling, and there weren’t even cleaners on the streets. It was difficult to understand at this distance who this jet was and what was wrong with him, but, fortunately, the weather conditions almost didn’t distort Lazerbeak’s signal. At first glance the jet seemed healthy, and Soundwave ordered Lazerbeak to descend below. Yes, one more sparkling had landed unsuccessfully, and under his unnaturally twisted leg was the snow-drenched pool. 

Jet lifted his helmet, apparently sensing the weak electromagnetic field of Lazerbeak, and Soundwave became half-deaf from jet’s squeal. Windsheer felt to his left wing and crawled in the dirty porridge of dust and snow, continuing to yell in one piercing note. His scarlet lenses were flaring feverishly bright, and his elongated gray faceplate was distorted by horror. Lazerbeak, of course, could deliver a couple of kliks of unpleasant sensations, but Soundwave didn’t understand why she caused such a reaction. 

«Don’t shout», — he sent to Windsheer’s comlink, speeding up. 

Strangely enough, Windsheer shut up really — judging by the absolute silence, disturbing only by the silent rustling of the ventilation systems, he blocked his dynamic, — and crawled clumsily to the white-yellow concrete wall of the first level. There was something like a local administration that solved educational and everyday issues. To get to the medcentre, it was necessary to go around the dormitory, but Windsheer didn’t seem to be able to stand.

This time it was easier to catch and tighten his hands. But Soundwave’s manipulators were trembling with tension, and Windsheer was slipping on his own energon and hanging in the clamps. Apparently, Soundwave’s new manipulators weren’t meant for dragging jets by weight. 

«Will you try to go yourself, or will I have to drag you?» — wrote Soundwave; there would surely be mud from melting ice and snow in a deep crack on Windsheer’s hip, leaving above and dissecting his turbine, but it couldn’t be fatal.

Windsheer was silent on all frequencies, staring by the scarlet dashes of his lenses, and didn’t make a sound, even when the clamps dented the armor on his forearm. Soundwave turned away and walked towards the medcentre. After the sparring, the automatic in the refectory had fixed a critical shortage of energy and given the triple portion of fuel unexpectedly, and in Airraizor’s room the discharge had deelectrified the whole tower. It was silly to blame the sparkling in Soundwave’s disgusting state of health. Silly, but his irritation intensified with every meter that separated from the door to refectory.

Fearing of the converging doors didn’t hurt his manipulators, Soundwave stood on the aisle and tried to lower one of them so as to step over and not to fall himself. It would have been easier to unclench the clamps and intercept Windsheer more conveniently, but this thought came when Soundwave had already turned to him. 

— Well, what the frag did you bring him here? — indifferently asked the doctor with bright yellow stripes on his wings. — I'm not going to mess with him.

— Rampage, — answered Soundwave.

— He’ll come in three cycles, and what makes you think he’ll do it? Don’t tell me that your droid doesn’t have infrared vision! — after a painfully long pause, added the jet, and Soundwave sensed in his tone a concealed mockery.

Lazerbeak switched the sensor mode, focusing on Windsheer, — he already had time to sit down and now was crawling to the wall, leaving behind a wet trace — and the acrimony of the doctor became clear. Long wings turned into pieces of dead metal, and the active coating faded. Now Soundwave saw this with his own lenses. Wings, in contrast to hands or legs, had a too branched neural network to manage to disconnect it instantaneously and thereby save the functionality of its parts, he recalled. Windsheer hadn’t had time to understand anything, and the discharge had destroyed his neural connections.

— I can kill him quickly and mercifully.

The sharp, curved gray tips of Windsheer’s wings, on which the snow didn’t melt, clattered against the wall; he threw back his head, buzzing with ventilation and trembling all over noticeably, and raised his claws to his neck. He couldn’t get to the brain module such way, he could drain his fuel easier… Hurting his neurotrunk, sparkling would only worsen his condition.

— Are you laughing at me? — he whispered lost and pitifully, without even trying to scratch the manipulator, which clasped his wrist, and his lenses seemed to look into Soundwave’s spark.

A jet, who had lost his ability to fly, couldn’t survive in Vos, if someone didn’t take the trouble to take care of him. There were upgrades that allow to move without wings, there were jobs that didn’t require to rise above the lower levels of the towers. However, who in the crowded city needed sparkling which hadn’t had time to learn anything useful and hadn’t shown any special talents? Nobody would have objected if Soundwave used the teleport of the medcentre and pick Windsheer up. He wasn’t a turbofox or a helio-hamster to bring him home.

Soundwave released Windsheer’s arm and activated the speedy rotation of the clamps, pushing the manipulator under his pointed chin and widening the thin gap between the plates of the armor, or maybe just crushing them and pushing inwards. If One-winged had given correct numbers, a hole would be drilled to the brain module rather quickly, and Lazerbeak would have enough energy for one more discharge of sufficient power. 

Windsheer’s lenses flared abnormally brightly, his claws were scraping the floor, tearing apart not only the paint, but also the hard coating under it. If the manipulator didn’t press Winsheer’s lower jaw, making its way deep into his head, his scream would probably knock out Soundwave’s audiosensors. But the sound was muffled by metal and biotissue… until the dynamic burned out, unpleasantly stabbing Soundwave with electricity. He strained his manipulator, moving farther, and it seemed he felt the hard casing of the brain module… and at that moment something crackled under his clamps. Windsheer’s frame was arching, hitting against the wall, his lenses were staring at Soundwave. Any normal mecha would have turned off a long ago. Any normal mecha would go into stasis after the jump from the thirty-level tower already. Soundwave had listened to lectures on anatomy, how well in comparison with the miserable ground-eaters were constructed Vos' jets, but he didn’t imagine how difficult it was to kill them. His clamps were stuck somewhere between the debris, and any movement of them was felt painfully along the entire length of his manipulator. Now he couldn’t even free himself.

— Freeze! You, you freeze, he can’t do it with all the desire! — medic squatted down, his cold fingers grabbed the manipulator very close to Windsheer’s frame, and Soundwave didn’t have time to see what was happening there. His clamps clicked in the air, sprinkling blue on the white wall. — About twenty more kliks of agony. Will you just watch, or do you want to do some other experiment?

Soundwave didn’t know if he heard sarcasm in this indifferent voice really, but being here was unbearable. And only having risen above the Academy buildings, he realized that he took off for the first time without thinking about the correct movements.


	17. 5.4

The wind hit his fuselage, knocking his light frame onto the rocks and trying to turn, the dark gray clouds were wetting his armor with icy moisture — but the urge to rush off from himself was stronger, and soon Soundwave emerged from the sticky fog. Its uneven hillocks enveloped the sharp peaks of the rocks, hiding the brightly lit towers, and there was the black sky with starry infinity above them. 

Soundwave hardly avoided colliding with the monstrously huge arch of the gate, covered with winding strips of frozen condensate, then transformed into a jump and pressed himself against the cold stone of one of the slopes. With these wings, flights with strong and unpredictable gusts of wind turned into torture, and, of course, it was impossible to concentrate on anything else. Soundwave turned around, clinging to the rough protrusions, and found the footholds allowing him to look at the Spiral Road, which wasn’t covered by clouds. Even Lazerbeak’s optosensors couldn’t distinguish tiny weak stars, but his memory automatically prompted the names of galaxies and constellations. The infinite cosmos, forever lost to Soundwave, stretched overhead, and what significance it had now, that the stone was crumbing under his feet? Even if he fell, his frame itself knew what to do. Hateful, unaccustomed — and, as it turned out, fantastically tough. The ships didn’t go farther than Cybertron's orbit for five vorns, since they had returned from the failed Darkstar’s expedition, but death had finally deprived Soundwave of hope to someday embark on a new intergalactic journey.

Jet’s wings were designed for the atmosphere, the whole cursed selection of Vos boiled down to one: to perfect aerodynamics. In the new frame, Soundwave could fly to the nearest satellite — and it was better not to try without firmware that was translating sensations from the sensors to the language of the software codes. The force dome flickered faintly below; the electromagnetic field capable of destroying any mecha, whose personal signal wasn’t listed, left out Soundwave quietly twenty kliks ago. He could fly away at any time, he was a guest here, not a prisoner… but there was nowhere he could fly.

«You're our brother, Soundwave, — he heard the record again; even so Firefly’s voice caused involuntary trembling. — Primus have thought you worthy of reborning in Vos, and Vos will always be on your side while you keep loyalty to us. The whole is more important for us than its part, but we’ll never give up any of us without serious reasons». 

The city below shone by multicolored windows. Soundwave saw many slender, tall and round residential towers, and now, despite the bad weather, tiny figures were building new levels on their tops. He saw rectangular buildings of the Academy and factories, over the production departments of which were located hundreds of similar rooms as small as allocated to him. And thousands of jets in the altform were flying in all the directions, from tower to tower, from entrance to entrance.

Either way, this city wouldn’t be able to evade the war forever, and Skyjack and Firefly didn’t lie at least in this — the decision about which side to choose had been necessary to take many quartexes back. Soundwave would have to do everything to ensure that the power of Vos didn’t hit the decepticons — but what could they offer to the most closed society of Cybertron?!

Cybertron never was truly unified, and in every city, that hadn’t recognized the power of the new Prime and had declared autonomy of itself, dozens, if not hundreds of vorns, the inhabitants had been committing justice and allocating resources by themselves… but Vos, separated by hics of stone and by no less strong contempt for all other forms of life, had rejected the proposals of Prime and Megatron. This couldn’t all be about the Orion Pax, who had received the Matrix and placed himself above the Lord-Commander. All the decepticons — and in the first quartexes, before the faction’s split, Prime and his advisors from the Iaconian Temple — had been straining the processors in the attempt to understand what the Vos’ jets had wanted, but had never came to any reasonable answer. To understand their intricate notions of honor, dignity and their primacy given by Primus, you should be born in this city, yes?

Ahaha. Soundwave had done what no one had dared to do before — but even if he believed that the jets recognized him as one of them, he understood nothing.

Least of all Skyjack and Firefly were interested in loud words. «The time has come for true justice — a time when everyone’ll be heard, and everyone’ll receive what his spark demand!» «Thousands of stupid senators, sitting in their chairs, did everything to divide us and make us hate each other, but our sparks are lit from the same source!» All these speeches had dispersed by millions of copies long ago. What Soundwave could say to Firefly, who stated bluntly that a decision of a referendum in Vos depended on those who counted votes?

«You’ve spent your whole life in space — how do you know what Cybertron needs?»

There, in the dark room, Soundwave could only ask for a respite for a couple of cycles — but even now this question tormented him. As if the jets from the height of their cliffs understood better what was happening on the surface! Orion Pax and Shockwave, perhaps, were too far from simple mecha. Alfa Trion served Primus and, like all religious fanatics, looked at the world only in search of confirmation of his own loud words. But Megatron's ideas, which had absorbed the proposals of all these clever and well-educated mecha, had been echoed by ordinary Kaon’s workers and miners before spreading all over the planet! 

Feeling the wind with the specks of snow, Soundwave was looking at the city filled with jets and couldn’t find the strength to step down and accomplish his task. To convince Megatron to give representatives of Vos at least part of the power, because they will not obey the stranger. Convince Firefly and Skyjack to take decepticons’ side. Arrange all of it so that all these arrangements wouldn’t be ruptured after the first meeting in Kaon, when Soundwave wouldn’t filter out unnecessary emotions. 

This city despised weakness, and death made Soundwave weak. He didn’t like to see a death even after the battle on Darkstar — but this acute discomfort, as in the medcentre of the Academy, happened for the first time. Upgrades could change the case, and Soundwave had already thought out how to improve himself, it remained only to put everything in one file and discuss with Rampage and One-winged. Fortunately, a spy needn’t to kill someone with his own hands. Below, in the shining towers, there were enough soldiers, and Soundwave was obliged to bring them to the decepticons at any cost. 

Even if death had irrevocably changed his spark, forever placing in her the cold and sticky fear. Lazerbeak could hide his electromagnetic field, his faceplate could be covered with a mask… He died, he had no place either in the capital of Megatron, or in Vos — so was it worth clinging to emotions, if thousands of sparks depended on Soundwave’s ability to lie?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be glad to know your opinion. Also you can help me improve my English, if you write, what was strange or unclear in my story!


End file.
